Counts of Blood
by Lucinda
Summary: Before a girl named Buffy moved to Sunnydale, the Master gets a visit from an old friend, Count vonCount. Warnings: Violence, counting, insanity, and counting. You may never look at these characters the same way again.
1. Chapter one

Author: Lucinda

Rated y-14

Main characters: the Count, the Master. Presence of assorted minions and mention of other muppets.

Disclaimer: the Count and any other muppets mentioned belong to Henson Puppetry. The Master belongs to Joss Whedon & his writers.

Distribution – if you want it, let me know.

Notes: Post Muppet Show, pre BtVS s1.

A small figure moved through the sewers of Sunnydale, stubby fingers flicking at the side passages. "One tunnel to the left, two tunnels to the left, four tunnels to the right, three tunnels to the left…"

A green lined cloak trailed behind him, making a soft sound against the remarkably clean walkway in the sewer. Glancing to the left, the figure adjusted his monocle, "That's two dead bodies, and one, two, three, four, five rats. Such an exciting town."

"Who are you? Sunnydale is a controlled area," a yellow eyed man hissed from a passage on the right.

"I don't know you," the short man muttered, his accent causing the taller form to blink. "Take me to your master now."

"I thought that was 'take me to your leader?' That's how it goes in all the movies," the yellow eyed minion blinked then shrugged. "Whatever, he can kill you either way."

The shorter figure followed down the passage, muttering softly, "fifteen manhole covers, sixteen manhole covers…"

The two finally emerged from the ordinary tunnel into a large cavern, with several rafters visible, some crumbling plaster on the walls, and broken pews along the left side. To the right, a large, scorched cross leaned at an angle. A pool of a dark, reddish fluid bubbled in the middle of the room, with a dark-clad man peering into it. Dozens of candles had been lit around the room, giving a fain illumination.

Edging away from the short stranger in the cloak, the minion said, "Master, there is a stranger here. I have brought him here to see you."

The Master turned, his amber eyes gleaming in a pale face. Seeing the short visitor, his expression changed into a smile, and he held his arms wide, "Count! I haven't seen you in decades. Not since we paid a little visit to that mathematician in Williamsburg. How have you been?"

"Vonderful," the shorter figure grinned, stepping into the light of the candles. His purple skin had a different sheen than the paleness of the Master, and his teeth were larger, though there only seemed to be four of them. The monocle gleamed in the light, as if he held a flame before him. "I wanted to see you again, my friend. It has been one hundred twenty five years, six months, and sewen days. You have a very nice town here. I counted seventeen cemeteries on the way here."

The Master frowned, moving towards his guest. "I have been trying to be a bit less excessive about object lessons this century. I don't want another mathematician like that fellow."

One purple hand waved, and the smaller vampire shrugged. "I have medications for that now. There shouldn't be another situation like that as long as I take my pills. Thirty six little green pills for a twelve day visit."

"Much better than three mathematicians in several hundred pieces," the Master shook his head.

"One mathematician, in one hundred and sewen boxes. With a diagram of where they all went," the Count corrected. "I let his assistant go."

"True," the Master agreed. "Put down your bag, we have time to catch up on. One of the minions will take your bag to a spare room for you to make yourself comfortable."

The pair of vampires moved to one of the pews, and began to discuss the past one hundred twenty five years, six months and seven days.

End part 1.


	2. Chapter two

They spoke for several hours before the master decided that it was time for his guest to retire for the day and rest. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the Master wanted to ensure that his guest was comfortable and properly medicated. The Count was shown to a small room, with his bag sitting on a narrow bed, the wall cracked in several places.

"A very nice room. One, two, three, four, five cracks on the wall. perhaps there will be spiders as well..." the Count mused. "Thank you for the hospitality."

"You are a welcome guest, my old friend. If there is anything that you need, send a minion to handle it. Blankets, clothing, someone to eat... anything," the Master smiled.

"Of course," the purple vampire opened his bag, frowning at the clothing inside. "I did not put the red shirt on top of the blue shirt. I newer pack red on the top."

"Perhaps the bag fell?" The comment was soft, and the Master frowned as his guest started to search the smaller pocket of the bag. "You're frowning."

"There should be one small bottle, with thirty six little green pills. I do not see one small bottle," the Count's fingers were tapping against the bed frame. "Perhaps one of your minions wished to count them? They should be returned. I may get... unstable without them. Kermit said that I should newer go without the medications."

"This Kermit tries to keep you from making messy object lessons?" the Master asked, one brow arched.

"Yes. He tries to keep me from too much distraction. An excellent manager, and a friendly reporter. Where are the pills?" The count was scowling at his bag, and started murmuring an inventory of every article that should have been inside. "One toothbrush, and one comb and one tube of toothpaste. One, two pairs of shoes. One, two, three mathematical papers."

The Master stepped back out of the room, and turned to glare at his minions. "Who took care of my guest's bag?"

The two minions in the chamber took a step backwards, glancing at each other before stammering, "Not me, I think it was Paul."

"Where is Paul now?" the snarl echoed slightly, not quite enough to drown out "four, five, six pairs of pants." from the Count's room.

Being far more concerned with their own safety than that of Paul, the minions pointed down one of the tunnels, waiting until their Master turned from them to flee. "I wonder what the Master will do to him?" the first minion asked, glancing back towards the master's hall.

"It won't be pretty. Maybe he'll gouge out his eye. Maybe he'll throw him against a cross," the second minion shuddered. "This will not be a good day for Paul."

"This visitor, the Count. He seems... a bit soft for a vampire," the first one offered. "Do you think he'll be angry if Paul took his drugs?"

Laughing, the second minion retorted, "What sort of vampire takes daily medication anyhow?"

Some time later, the Master returned, dragging the minion Paul with him. Throwing Paul to the ground, he growled, "My friend, this fool took your medicine."

"Sixty-three, sixty-four minutes. Where are my thirty six little green pills, Paul the minion?" the Count turned his attention to the fallen minion, who had a big grin on his face. The monocle made one eye look very large, and there were tiny red veins surrounding the dark iris. "Things get slippery when I can not take my medication properly."

Paul giggled. "Pills... happy little pills. I know why you take them now."

"You took my pills. You ate my pills. How many of my thirty six pills did you swallow, Paul the minion?" The Count's voice had dropped, and his accent was thickening. "I should have taken my medication two hours ago."

Looking up at the master, the Count's hands clenched into fists. "Put him in a room, and lock the door. One lock, two locks... I will wish to speak to him later about this. He does not know the sewerity of his mistake, and I wish to explain it with a calm that I can not gather at this time."

The master seized Paul, and lifted him from the ground, glaring at the now giggling minion. "He wouldn't understand right now. What sort of pills do you take?"

"They are wery potent pills. As they were my pills that he has taken, I ask that you leave him for me to deal with, instead of taking care of the matter yourself," the Count requested. "I wish to take a little time to prepare my explanation of just how poorly he has chosen."

"How long do you think you will need?" the Master walked to the doorway, Paul still dangling in his grasp.

"I will take thirty minutes to calm myself, and then I may wish to borrow a few of your toys to explain," the Count was staring at one of the cracks in the wall, his eyebrow starting to twitch. "One spider, one web, two webs, three webs..."

"I think Darla has reached the point where she wouldn't like to be referred to as one of my toys," the Master commented, glancing back at his guest.

"That wasn't the sort of toy I meant," the Count's voice was soft.

"Of course," the Master's voice was a low hiss. "Should missing your medication be having this much of an effect already?"

"I need to keep a certain amount flowing in my blood for it to work. If I don't take it in time, the lewels fall too low, and it doesn't work any longer. Taking the blood of someone who already has it in them is useless, it's too hard to get enough of the medication into my system fast enough for it to take effect," the Count's words were calm. Folding his cloak, he placed it on the bed, along with the pendant hanging from a soft ribbon.

"I'll put him in a penitent's cell for you, and leave you to plan your explanation," the Master smiled. "This should be interesting."

Thirty minutes after the Master had carried the still-giggling Paul to a cell, the Count left his guest room. His dark eyes were bloodshot, and had acquired flecks of yellow, and there was a periodic twitch of his left eyebrow. He carefully walked around the room, inspecting the minions' means of amusement before spotting a pair of surgical scalpels on a table. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt before rolling them up to his purple elbows, lifting both scalpels from the table. "I will borrow these for a while. They will be useful in my discussion with Paul the minion."

"Just so you know, he's not very penitent," one minion called. "And he's taller than you."

"I have spent a long time with others being taller than I am; I am used to such things. And if he is not penitent now, he will be soon," the Count's voice was calm.

Going to the door of the Penitent's Cell, the Count called, "Hello Paul the minion. We are going to discuss why you took my thirty six little green pills, and why that was a bad thing to do."

Paul giggled.

"Fifteen on Paul," the same minion whispered.

"I don't know, he is someone that the Master knows..." one of the minions who had given up Paul's location mused. "I'll put my money on the purple Count."

"What money?"

"The money from tonight's dinner, of course," the minion retorted.

From the cell, Paul giggled. "If you had the pills, you'd be happy like me."

"No, if I had the pills, you would stay happy," the Count's voice was still calm. "Did you know that the human body has two hundred and six bones?"

"Really?" Paul giggled a gain. "How'd they get that number?"

"Someone must have counted," There was a slight pause. "It is time to give a careful consideration to that number. You have woluntered to help me with this experiment."

There was a rattling noise, and then a piercing scream.

"One toe bone, two toe bones..."

end part 2.


	3. Chapter three  ahhahaha

The Count stayed in the small cell for several hours. The sounds of screaming had alternated with Paul's shrieked pleas of things like 'have mercy' and 'I'll never take someone's drugs again, I swear!' The scents of blood, fear, and the clinging ashes of burning flesh filled the air.

One of the minions pulled out some dice and tried to distract himself from the questions being muttered of 'just what is he doing in there?' and 'When the Master finds out…' Rattling the dice, he chanted, "Come on lucky seven…"

"Did you know that in earlier centuries, people tossed bones for gambling?" the Count's accented tones didn't echo.

The minion looked up, his throat tightening as he realized that the visitor's shirt wasn't red, but soaked with blood. A few tiny spatters of blood had landed on the monocle, and several more on the side of his face. Behind the monocle, his eyes were a pale amber that nearly glowed. "Bones?"

"Yes. They used bones, and carved the sides with numbers. A bit less regular than the plastic things used today," his words accompanied a small frown. He lifted his hand, which was folded around several pale objects. "I prefer the older methods."

"You can't toss bones like dice," one of the minions snorted. "They aren't shaped right."

"Evenly diwisable by three, four, and five…" the Count mumbled, before tossing the small objects in his hand onto the floor.

The pale shapes clattered against stone, landing in a rough semi-circle. They were off-white and rather longer than dice. They weren't even symmetrical. Lines had been carved into the sides, the edges still crisp.

Looking down at the small purple figure, one of the minions sniffed, "The numbers aren't even inked, how do you read them?"

"You can always read numbers," the Count's voice held a growl. "One, two three with the number one, one with the number two, one two three four with the number three."

Thunder boomed above them, and the Count grinned, "Ahh, that's better. One with the number four, and… I do believe I forgot to carve that one."

"Where did you get a set of knuckle-bones?" asked a minion in the back. "And shouldn't Paul be here for gambling? That fool is always taking dumb chances…."

"Paul is here. And here. And here," the Count pointed at the various bones, the candle light showing the dark blood that was caught beneath his nails. "Paul ate my thirty six little green pills. I am giving him some time to consider the error of his ways. Thirty six errors."

"Your bones total to," the first minion paused a moment, lips moving silently as he counted. "Twenty one."

"Are those…. Those are real bones," whispered the same minion who had mentioned Paul and his penchant for taking risks. "You're tossing Paul's bones instead of dice?"

"I like the older traditions," the Count shrugged. "Besides, he needs to take a bit of time to rest. The counting shall continue when he vill appreciate the numbers more and scream less."

"What counting?" The question was soft, as if even the vampiric minion was unsure if he wanted an answer.

"So far ve have werified that there are a total of fifty two bones in the feet. Only fourteen of them are good for this. There are several that might be good for runic diwination, but I do not hold patience for such things," the Count folded his hands, peering over them at the bones on the floor.

"Fifty two bones in the feet? What the hell sort of thing is that to talk about?" demanded the same minion who had insisted that the Count's numbers couldn't be read for a lack of ink.

The Count moved, his teeth bared in a snarl as he pinned the foolish minion to the floor. One hand ripped into the vampire's stomach, removing a large brown shape that oozed thick blood. "Do not mock the numbers. I vill make sure they have enough color that you vill see them."

"You ripped out his spleen," whispered a minion who had once studied medicine.

The Count dripped the blood over each of the bones that he had tossed. After he was satisfied, he carefully placed the spleen in a small box, one nail writing the numeral one on the lid. "Now the numbers no longer hide from your veak eyes."

The minions shuffled away, not wanting to attract his attention to themselves. From the group came a soft 'meep.'

The Count stared at them for a while, his yellow eyes gleaming. Finally, he knelt back down, picking up the bones one at a time. "One toe bone, two toe bones, three toe bones, four toe bones, five toe bones, six toe bones, sewen toe bones, eight toe bones, nine toe bones, ten toe bones, elewen toe bones, twelve toe bones, thirteen toe bones, fourteen toe bones! Ah-ha-ha-ha…"

Thunder boomed again as the Count laughed.

The minions cowered until the small purple vampire left the room. One of them broke the silence with a whimpered, "Now I know why he's supposed to take medication. He's crazy."

"No, worse. He's crazy and powerful," corrected the minion who had tallied up the bones.

"What can we do about it though? I don't want to attack an insane vampire. He might start using my toe bones for dice," protested a minion.

"You could ask the master to deal with his guest…"

Snorts met this suggestion. "Or we could just stake ourselves and save some pain and suffering."

"Okay, that's not a very good idea. Someone try to find what Paul did with the pill bottle. There might be some sort of phone number on it of someone we can get to come take this guy away. Or search his room the next time he's out."

Edging to the cell, a minion in a faded green shirt looked inside. "Paul?"

"How's Paul?" asked another.

"Paul has no feet," the minion whispered. "There's a little bowl with some coals in it, and the room stinks of burned flesh, and Paul has no feet. I can see the muscles of his legs, and I don't know where the skin is, and he has no feet."

"He's got to have feet," insisted the former med student. Stepping to the doorway, he pushed the door open.

Paul had been chained to the wall, with wide metal cuffs encircling his wrists, which showed bone where he'd struggled to get away. Mercifully unconscious, he dangled against the wall, with blood sprayed over all the sides of the little cell. His pants had been cut at the knees, and the skin had been peeled back about half way up the calves, exposing the muscles and tendons. The ankle bones were visible beneath, and a small pool of blood covered the floor. But the only sign of Paul's feet were the shoes and socks neatly sitting in the corner.

"Shit," the minions stumbled away from the cell, pulling the door shut to block the view. "He can't stay."

"I'll go look for the pill bottle," someone said from the back.

"I'll search his room later," the minion swallowed. "He might go back to talk more with Paul about bones… or maybe muscles. Aren't there like six hundred of those?"

"Shhh! Don't give that purple lunatic any ideas!" hissed the former med student.

The minions scattered. Some of them were even debating the risk of stray sunbeams above the sewers against the dangers of staying in the Count's reach.

End part 3.


	4. Chapter four

Danny pounded on the door, hoping that he had the right address. Sunbeams had scorched him twice, once on the back of his hand and again on his left shoulder, but he considered that much safer that remaining in the sewers with the Count. Now that was a person to inspire nightmares.

"Darla? Please be there, open the door…" Danny could hear the begging in his voice and winced.

The door opened, revealing a blond woman barely in a plum silk robe. "Who… what are you doing here?"

"You have to help us, Darla. It's a disaster," Danny whimpered.

"Why aren't you down with the others in the lair?" Darla waved for him to come inside and closed the door.

"The Master has a visitor. It should have been a simple thing, with us just staying out of the way. I mean, the guy has no sense of humor, and he even used the line 'Take me to your master' when I found him in the tunnels," Danny tried to imitate the Count's accent.

"What? Was he a short fellow, purple, wears a cloak and medallion," Darla asked, her face paling several shades.

"Yes," Danny nodded. "He's called the Count."

Darla swore in Chinese. Running her hands through her hair, Darla blew out a puff of air. "The last I heard of him was in Charleston. There was a mathematician, and something about his work annoyed the Count greatly. What was supposed to have been, how did he put it, 'a harmless discussion of numbers' left the mathematician's assistant hiding in an insane asylum and the mathematician in a hundred boxes that had been made out of the mathematician's research notes. And now you're telling me that he's here, in Sunnydale?"

"He said he had medication for that now," Danny mumbled, collapsing into a chair. "But Paul stole the guy's pills and ate them."

"Paul stole the Count's medication? Someone had the Count on medication?" Darla blinked, and shook her head. "It's too early for this."

"Paul took the Count's thirty six little green pills. This is really bad. Now the Count's explaining to Paul why that's a bad thing, and he started by removing Paul's feet. I know he's using the toe-bones for dice now. I don't know what happened to the rest of his feet," Danny whimpered just from thinking about the nightmare.

"What am I supposed to do about this mess? Take him though the Kama Sutra and keep him busy?" Darla snapped.

"That'd distract me," Danny muttered, his eyes glazing over at the idea. "We're trying to find the medicine bottle. If there's a number for where the drugs came from, or a number of this Kermit person who's been keeping him medicated… Something. You're good at plans; we were hoping you could help."

"That's the plan, and for something that skimpy you come running up here through the sunlight?" Darla arched an eyebrow at him, leaning back in her own seat.

"Instead of staying in the lair with the Count? Yes. I felt safer dodging sunbeams," Danny replied.

"I think that I'd rather start my planning here instead of somewhere that the Count is annoyed," Darla decided. "I still haven't figured out if he can direct the lightning or just call it up when he counts things."

"Calling lightning?" Danny swallowed. "Here sounds better. Much better."

**********

"Count? What did you do to my minion?" the Master's voice was calm. "The rest of them are hiding like rats."

"I have been explaining the error of his ways," the Count waved one hand. "Did you know that there are fifty two bones in the feet?"

"What has that to do with my minions being afraid of you?" the Master folded his arms, and frowned. "How many of my minions have you maimed this time?"

"Paul's feet enabled him to take my thirty six little green pills. I have wery carefully removed them, one bone at a time. Nobody else vill be permitting their feet to make a similar mistake. As for the others, we tossed dice and bones together. They seem to be a quiet group," the Count shrugged. "Only one displayed a dreadful lack of manners, and he may recower. I know that he does not need to have a spleen to function. Perhaps he vill learn to be polite."

"You removed Paul's feet? There weren't any hacksaws laying about, do I want to know how you did that particular feat of dismemberment?" the Master was rubbing at his temple.

"I borrowed a scalpel. The removal took place one bone at a time, vith great precision," the Count rubbed his hands together and smiled. "If he is still unrepentant, I shall move on to werifying the number of bones in the legs."

"I thought you might wish to go out and about tonight," the Master paused, and then offered, "Sunnydale has quite a few cemeteries and churches. More than the usual numbers for a town this size."

"Perhaps that vould be nice. Do any of them have the gothic architectural style?" the Count looked upwards, as if contemplating the streets of Sunnydale.

"You would enjoy determining that yourself more than taking my word for such a thing. As I recall, you had an interest in architecture as well as numbers."

"Vithout the proper number and proportion, architecture is impossible. Improper angles and material strength can cause the buildings to collapse. It happened many times during the construction of the cathedral towers," the Count smiled, one hand raised to touch the medallion on his chest. "My own castle was built with good numbers, and it should stand for many, many years."

"I'll make sure a few of the minions go with you, to make certain you don't have any difficulties. There are some unfriendly demons about," the Master declared.

"Vonderful! And I shall count the churches and graveyards of this town. You are fortunate to dwell in such a fascinating place," the Count smiled.

End part 4.


	5. Chapter five

The Master strode into the main chamber, rubbing his hands together in glee. "You will enjoy seeing Sunnydale, my friend. There are plenty of cemeteries, and abundance of churches, and the people are willfully blind. They see little and accept less. Truly, a vampire could ask for little more in a home."

"I look forward to seeing more of this place," the Count nodded, his monocle reflecting the candlelight.

"Some of the minions will go with you, of course," the Master announced.

One of the minions, who had been just about to enter the main chamber, pivoted neatly and walked the other way. Another flattened himself into a dip of stone, attempting to become one with the wall. A third edged towards away from the Penitent's Cell, where soft whimpers could still be heard.

"Yes, they look delighted at the chance," the Count murmured, fingers rubbing at his chin.

"Do you have a preference which of them you'd like to take?" the Master folded is arms, surveying his minions.

"That one has an appreciation for precision and sharp tools, and that one seems to have an idea of how to count. They vill do," the Count pointed at two of the minions.

The indicated minions shuffled forward, eyes downcast. Half muttering fragments of prayers in Spanish and Latin, the former medical student ventured a single question, "Will the scalpels be staying here tonight?"

"Yes, they shall remain here. Later, more discussion vith Paul about his poor manners in taking things from a guest. Perhaps an exploration of the muscles and tendons of the legs… He did not seem interested in the number of bones," the Count shook his head.

"There's still quite a while before the sun sets," commented Alex, one hand wrapped around some dice. "What did you intend to do until then?"

"There was a paper in his bag, with the name Kermit and a telephone number. I'm going to call this Kermit and hope he can help us with this guy," the minion who had first discovered the Count in the tunnels insisted. "There was also a pharmacy label on the empty bottle that Paul had. Maybe they have a branch out here and can get him a refill?"

"Right. Joe, you know the medical part better than the rest of us, call the pharmacy. Threaten them, beg them, hell you can even just offer them money, just get them to work on a refill for those drugs. Dave, you call Kermit. Same deal, but start with begging rather than threats. If we piss him off too much, he could just leave the Count here," Alex hissed to a few of the minions.

"Ve shall toss the bones, though I suppose you can use those plastic dice, and tell me some about this town and its history. I'm sure that your friends have other things to accomplish before dark," the Count decided. His yellow eyes seemed to glow as he stared at Alex.

Alex tried to grin, his expression faltering, "uhh… Yes, very important tasks. I'm sure Joe will be finished in time… ready to help with the tour, I mean."

They began to toss dice and bones, tallying up the numbers of each toss. The other minions slipped away, hoping not to draw the Count's attention. Especially not after there was a whimper and the sound of rattling chains from the Penitent's Cell.

Joe made his way out of the lair to a section of the sewers that had good reception for a cellular phone. He held a small pill bottle in one hand, and sighed as he searched for a bit of scrap paper and a pencil. Finally, he called information to ask if there was a branch of Rite-Aid near Sunnydale.

It took him almost ten minutes before the annoying operator divulged that there were no Rite-Aids in Sunnydale, but there were two in nearby towns. One was in a nearby town named Cayucos and the other somewhat farther away in a town called Harmony.

Joe gritted his teeth as the woman droned on and on about how lovely the town of Harmony was, such a lovely place to go for a vacation or a honeymoon. Why, that's where she and her second husband had gone, so they'd named their daughter after the lovely little town. Didn't he agree that Harmony Kendall had such a nice ring to it, so very distinctive and polite sounding…

Pushing a button to end the call, Joe spat off to the side. "That woman had to be the most exasperating, insipid twit that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter! I feel like killing her as a favor to the state of California… No, she's already spawned, it might be too late. Though I suppose we could just find and kill her child as well."

At least in the sewers, he didn't have to worry about spitting on the floor. Rubbing at his temple, he dialed the number for the Cayucos Rite-Aid. Now he just hoped that the Count's medication would be in their computers and available for pick up soon.

End part 5.


	6. Chapter six

While Joe was making phone calls to locate a pharmacy, Dave was staring at a scrape of paper with a scrawled name and some very precisely shaped numbers. He was certain the name started with K, had an m in the middle, and ended with a t, but he was a bit confused about some of the other letters.

For a moment, Dave wished that he believed in something that he could pray to for help and guidance. As he reached for the phone to try to call the number, his hand shook. "If there's something out there watching over little vampires, let this work. We need to get him out of here. Please."

Holding the phone to his ear, Dave waited as it rang. He didn't think about the time of day, he didn't worry about time zones, he just wanted to find a way to get rid of the Count before none of them had any feet.

From the other end, a voice answered, :Hello?:

"Please, do you know the Count?" Dave tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

:Yes, I know the Count. He went on a vacation to visit a friend of his out in California.: There was a pause, and then the voice slowly stated, :You're in California, aren't you.:

"Yes," Dave admitted. "Can you come out here? Please?"

:I have a lot of responsibilities out here. Count's more than old enough to take care of himself, and he packed enough medication for his visit…: The voice sounded reluctant.

"I'm not worried about him getting hurt; I'm worried about the rest of us!" Dave blurted.

:What do you mean? Why would he…: there was a sigh, and then, :What happened?:

"Paul took all of the Count's pills. He's off his medication," Dave whispered, glancing around to see if anybody was watching him.

:Count was going to visit an old friend of his, a guy he called the Master. Does that make you one of the Master's underlings? Is the term still minions… I suppose the terms don't matter. What happened after Paul took the medicine away from Count? Can't he just give it back?: The voice sounded distracted.

"No, he swallowed all the pills. Paul was acting all… weird and happy until the Count went in to explain the error of Paul's ways. Nobody's happy now except maybe the Count," Dave shuddered, muttering "fifty two bones of the feet… dice…"

:Oh dear, someone took his medication away and he got angry,: the voice didn't sound nearly disturbed enough. :I hope he hasn't gotten into any discussion of mathematical theory?:

"No. Would that be bad?" Dave wasn't sure he wanted to know what could happen.

:Mmmm. That would depend on the theory and the mathematician. The last one ended up writing a paper that the apparently caused a big to-do in those circles, the one before that now takes three sorts of anti-anxiety medications and keeps a Rottweiler, and the one before that ended up in pieces. One hundred and seven pieces, if I remember the story rightly,: the voice replied.

Dave whimpered.

:What's the name of the town that the Count is visiting?: the voice sighed.

"Sunnydale, California. If you can get in before sunrise, we'll have someone waiting for you at the airport," Dave offered. "We'll reimburse you for your ticket. We'll give you a place to stay. Just… help? He's scaring us."

:I didn't realize things were that bad. Give me a moment…:

Dave could hear a keyboard tapping over the phone, and hoped that it meant that Kermit was arranging a plane ticket. He'd make sure that everybody knew that Kermit would make the Count stop being so scary, which would ensure Kermit's safety. Everyone's safety, really.

:I've got a ticket on a plane. I should be arriving at the Sunnydale airport at… Hmm, let me check the times. A little after nine if there aren't any delays. That's just after sunset. Can someone be there to pick me up?: The voice offered.

"We'll have someone there. A big sign reading Kermit… I think we can keep from adding 'save us' to it," Dave agreed. "Someone's trying to arrange a pharmacy to refill his prescription… just what kind of drugs are those anyhow?"

:They're still considered highly experimental. We only convinced the doctors to give Count a prescription after letting them have a long talk with him that resulted in one of the doctors needing a cast for his hand and seven months of psychiatric therapy. Just leave it at they're powerful mood altering substances, and nobody else should be taking them. Especially not away from Count,: the answer wasn't very specific.

"Okay," Dave decided that it didn't really matter what the drugs were as long as they worked. "Someone will be waiting, none of us will ever take medicines away from the Count again, and some of us might consider turning a psychiatrist after his visit. He did say that he only intended to stay for twelve days."

:Flight two fifty nine on Delta airlines, with a nine-ten arrival time, California time. I'll pack light: Kermit said. :I'll also see if there's any more of his medicine here, it sometimes takes a while for the pharmacy to fill his prescription.:

Dave nodded, jotting down the flight number and time. He'd have to talk to Joe about the possible delay at the pharmacy. He didn't know who would go get Kermit, but someone would be willing to get the guy who would keep the Count from removing pieces of anyone else.

He made a final note to make sure Joe told someone the pharmacy that he'd talked to before Joe and Alex left for their walking tour with the Count. Just in case they didn't come back.

End part 6.


	7. Chapter sewen

Dave crept back among the minions, relieved to see that Darla was present, but the Count was gone, along with Joe and Alex. The Master was staring at his pit of bubbling blood, as usual, though he was muttering things about the Count, and excessive examples, and something about a pact.

"How'd your call go?" Danny asked, one shoulder scorched from sunlight.

"I talked to Kermit, who does indeed know the Count. He agreed to come out on a plane, and someone needs to be there to pick him up at the airport at a little after nine. Nobody bother Kermit, or he won't be able to keep the Count under control. He also said that the Count's drugs are highly experimental, and the pharmacy might have some trouble getting them in stock," Dave sighed.

"A couple minions will go talk to the pharmacist, to make sure that they know how important this is," Darla stepped into the discussion. "If they keep him half way sane, I might want to send some to one of my grand-children. Dru's almost as crazy as the Count."

"She counts manhole covers and rats?" Danny asked, edging outside of the range or Darla's hands.

"She talks to her doll, the stars, flowers, rocks…" Darla shook her head with a growl. "I'll go to the airport to meet Kermit. Someone make a sign. How much baggage will he have?"

"He said he'd travel light, but I don't know what his definition of light is," Dave admitted. "I was too busy being glad that he'd come, and be here tonight."

"Does he know how scary the Count is, or does he only know the medicated version?" Sarah asked, edging forward enough to be seen.

"He mentioned having some trouble convincing the doctors to get the medication prescribed, so he must have an idea. He didn't seem too afraid, so I'm guessing it's a pretty vague one," Dave considered the conversation.

Kermit couldn't know, could he?

"One, two frightened minions who are to give me the grand tour of Sunnydale," the Count mused. "My friend said that there are many cemeteries and churches, and he suggested that there vere some buildings vith interesting architecture."

"There might be demons," Joe warned. "I know that there's normally some in the old factory district, and there tend to be a lot near the docks."

"How many old factories does it take to make a district?" the Count tilted his head to the right, fingers moving sideways as he considered the words. "You shall have to show me this area."

"And the demons? I don't think they'll care that you're off your medication," Joe warned.

"I have encountered two hundred and five different types of demons in the past, and I am quite capable of dealing with them. Should there be a type I am unfamiliar vith… It has been more than my ability vith numbers that has enabled me to surwive this long," the Count grinned.

Somehow, the expression did not bring amusement or joy to the hearts of Joe or Alex. It was closer to a silent, cowering terror.

"… and over here is the Our Lady of Hope cemetery, one of the early Catholic additions. Some of them apparently couldn't stand the idea of being buried next to a Protestant. No that it makes much difference as far as I can tell, either you're dead and rotting or you don't stay there anyhow, what's the difference?" the words fled Alex in a rush as he gestured at the large cemetery, filled with elaborate headstones and old trees.

From one of the trees, something hissed. Three orange eyes glowed, and they could see something moving among the branches. Something large.

"I don't know what that is… but I don't think it's friendly," Alex swallowed, taking a step backwards.

"The one hundred and nineteenth species of demon I encountered. I newer did learn the name of them, but they are particularly wulnerable to salt, silwer, and they drown wery nicely," the Count commented.

"Silwer? What's… oh, silver," Joe mumbled. "That's a big monster. Very big."

"It… they look pretty big. Drowning? Doesn't that call for lots of water that we don't have in a cemetery?" Alex took another step away from the hissing thing in the tree.

"No. You only need enough to cower its nose. And that is only one demon. It has one, two, three eyes, all orange. Be prepared to run now," the Count's voice remained calm.

"There's a fountain in the middle of the cemetery," Joe offered. "It's got some lily-pads and algae, and there used to be a fish. Would that be enough water?"

"Does it have six inches of water?" the Count asked.

"uhuh… oh shit, run!" Joe yelped as the thing lunged from the tree.

Three large eyes burned in a bony, head that resembled a crocodile, with a line of orange and yellow spikes down a long, scaly neck. Six legs with long claws tore at the ground, while a spiked tail lashed the air.

The Count ran into the cemetery, his voice calling loudly, "One tombstone! Two tombstones! Three tombstones! One mausoleum! Four tombstones!"

Hissing again, the beast snapped at the retreating purple vampire. Alex and Joe reluctantly followed, more afraid of telling the master that they'd abandoned his friend to be eaten by a large dragon-like demon than of being eaten. At least getting torn in half by sharp teeth would be a swift death.

"This is not a good night," Joe snarled. "Horrible telephone operators, unhelpful pharmacists, giant demon lizards…"

"Thirteen tombstones!" A bolt of lightning blinded the minions as the Count shouted the number. The accompanying thunder deafened them.

There was a high thin screech, and then the ground beneath their feet shook. Blinking spots from their eyes, Joe and Alex could smell burning flesh, and edged closer, trying to see around a bold, green-purple after-image of the lightning.

"You vill not dewour me, you foolish demon," the Count growled, his hand flecked with orange blood as his claws sank under the jaw of the demon. He hauled the still-twitching creature towards the fountain, ignoring teeth longer than his fingers and the wisps of smoke that still rose from the scorched spot on the massive head.

The long tail was still thrashing, and the claws flexed on the feet, ripping tufts of grass from the ground. Ignoring such details, the Count dragged the demon towards the fountain. He was muttering something, fragments about 'cubic inches' and 'drag resistance' reaching the ears of the minions.

"It got hit by lightning," Joe hissed. "Why isn't it dead?"

"Where did the lightning come from?" Alex glanced upwards, uncomforted by the twinkling of stars. The only clouds at all were much to thin and wispy to have produced so much as a raindrop, let alone such a wicked bolt of lightning. "There are no clouds…"

"Lightning does not kill all things," the Count's voice carried through the air. "But it vill stun most of them. Not Gonzo, but it does make him easier to avoid. And now that it is no longer attempting to remove my hand, I shall drown it."

"What's a gonzo?" Joe glanced at Alex, "and what's bad enough that he wants to avoid one?"

"I don't know, and I never want to find out," Alex declared.

After the drowning of the demon, Alex and Joe couldn't get the Count out of the cemetery fast enough. It took several vague noises as he waxed on about strange numbers and the mention of a castle near the woods before he'd go.

Leaning towards Alex, Joe whispered, "If there's something watching little vampires, pray harder. I don't feel safe, I don't feel protected, and he needs his drugs."

"Delta flight two fifty nine," Alex repeated. "That's the flight. Then everything will be better. I hope."

Joe nodded, "Darla and Danny will go to pick up this Kermit person. I saw the sign they were taking."

"Does it say 'save us' in big letters?" Alex glanced at the Count, and shivered. "He's scaring me. There's just something wrong with an insane vampire apparently able to call lightning out of a clear sky. Very, very wrong."

"No, the big letters are for 'Kermit'. The words 'save us' ended up in small ones," Joe admitted.

Neither of them laughed.

Ahead, the Count stopped, looking upwards at the empty castle. One finger stabbing at the air, he began to speak, "One tower, two towers…"

End part 7.


	8. Chapter eight with kermit

Darla leaned against the wall, hating the airport. Humans scurried about, worried about their flights and their plans, oblivious to the dangers around them. She could have killed so many of them… But that wasn't why she was here. She glared at the sign, one large word and a smaller plea to 'save us' written underneath. It was absurd. How would she know that the person who came to the sign was the right Kermit anyhow?

She was certain that the minion with her had gone off to eat someone in the bathroom, leaving her with the sign. More annoying, he had the car keys, so she couldn't just go back home.

After what felt like a very long time, the speakers announced the arrival of Delta flight two fifty nine from **LaGuardia, **on time. Passengers wouldbegin debarking shortly at gate six.

"It's about time," Darla growled, heading towards the waiting area.

"Wait up!" Danny called from behind. "Darla…."

"If you'd been paying attention, you'd have heard that the arrival of the flight was just announced. We want gate six, and we don't want to give Kermit a chance to miss us. Keep up," Darla didn't bother hiding her irritation.

"If we had some sort of description, it would help things along," Danny muttered. "All we know is that this guy used to be a reporter and he knows the Count."

"Just shut up and hold the sign," Darla growled.

People began to emerge from the door. Frazzled families with grumpy or sleepy children. Rumple businessmen in their now-wrinkled suits. Tired students traveling for their school vacations.

Darla sighed and let her mind drift. They would find Kermit, whoever he was, he'd take care of the Count, and everything would go back to normal.

"Aahhh…. Eeeiii… uh?" Danny made a few incoherent noises, dragging Darla from her pleasant dream of the Count gone away, the Master freed from his lair, and her breaking in a new pet.

There was a frog the size of a small child standing there in a trench-coat and hat, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

Darla blinked, certain that she was hallucinating. Danny made a few more odd noises.

"Hi there, I'm Kermit. You're the ones here to pick me up?" the frog asked in a mild tenor.

"You know the Count?" Darla rubbed at her eyes, still reluctant to believe she was talking to a giant frog.

"That's right," one webbed hand tapped at something in his pocket. "I got a call that there was a slight problem with his medication, and could I please come and help get things sorted out."

"You can fix him?" Danny gasped, "There's more of the miracle pills? Probably without the chocolate coating though…"

"Idiot," Darla shoved him away, smirking as he crashed into a column. "Nobody cares if the pills are covered in chocolate as long as they work."

"You suddenly remind me of Piggy, only taller," Kermit muttered. "Yes, I can help with the Count. I brought more of his medicine in case the pharmacies around here are slow, and I can probably calm him down."

Darla decided not to ask who or perhaps what 'Piggy' was or how she reminded him of this 'Piggy'. Hopefully it was a compliment. "We have a car in the parking lot. Get up and stop wasting out time, Danny."

As the made their way towards the car, Danny asked, "Do you need to get luggage?"

"This is all I brought," Kermit replied. "I said I was traveling light."

"Traveling light has different meanings to different people," Darla smirked. "Angelus used to need at least three trunks and a pet before we went anywhere. And of course, there were the minions, and William."

"How did you meet the Count? He's…. well, he's scary," Danny asked, keys jangling in his hand.

"I had a job as a local reporter and weather-frog for a small news station back a few years ago. Count moved into the area. I met him when I went to investigate the strange weather patterns around the new castle," Kermit shrugged. "I've known him ever since."

"Was that before or after he started taking medication?" Darla glanced at the frog, now trying to picture him with a microphone.

"Before. I had Bunsen and Beaker start trying to find him something after the little problem with the scientists led to the bigger problem with the SWAT team… things got messy, and we all decided it would be best not to have them happen again," Kermit shrugged, as if the whole situation was of no further consequence.

"So, his medicine?" Danny asked. "It sent Paul into fits of giggles, and he was talking about seeing pretty colors and foggy lights."

"About half the ingredients are illegal for private sale, and there are fourteen different mood-altering substances in the mix. Anti-anxiety, sedatives, anti-hallucinogens, and a few muscle relaxants for good measure," Kermit commented. "I'd have to get the details from Bunsen."

"Anti-hallucinogens? Then why did Paul see things?" Danny blinked.

"A normal effect of taking medicines that you don't need," Kermit shrugged.

The search for the car went quickly, and soon they were all seated and waiting to leave the parking lot.

Kermit spoke, "Tell me what the Count's done since he got to Sunnydale."

The explanation, complete with details about Paul's disappearing feet, took the rest of the trip back to the lair.

"Umm, you might want to do something to look… less edible though the tunnels," Darla warned. "Not all of the minions are very bright."

Kermit snickered, "Don't worry, I know just the thing."

Darla glanced at the mirror, and blinked. The frog was still sitting there, but now he had four large fangs, just like the Count's. Reflection. Fangs. "How?"

"I learned it from a special guest we had at the theater once," Kermit grinned. "Vincent Price."

"He'll be just fine," Danny chuckled. "Wait, you met Vincent Price? _The_ Vincent Price? That's just cool…"

Darla sighed, hoping that Kermit could salvage the situation with the Count, or at least take him away. Far away.

End part 8.


	9. Chapter nine

Kermit followed Darla into the sewers, listening as she explained how the minions were terrified by the Count. With a few comments from Danny, she pointed out that he'd frightened some of them very badly, not an easy task for minions who served her sire, the Master of the Order of Aurelius.

"I braved the sunbeams to ask Darla to help fix things," Danny interrupted. "He's just… Paul doesn't have any feet now. He ripped out Jack's spleen. I didn't even know where a spleen was before that, and now…"

"He's got you all terrified," Kermit nodded, rubbing at his chin. "Where is he now?"

"The Master sent him out with Joe and Alex to get the tour of Sunnydale. I think he was going to count churches and cemeteries," Darla answered.

"Hmmm…" Kermit followed them down the tunnel, and commented, "I think I can get him to calm down a little. Enough that he won't start in on anyone else unless they do something drastic to catch his attention."

"How easy is it to catch his attention?" Danny whispered.

"I brought some of his physics journals, a couple senior theses from a local college, and some more of his pills. That should hold him long enough to let the medication start to kick in again," Kermit mused.

"The medication makes him safe again, right?" Danny rubbed his hands together, glancing around the tunnel. "And he won't just rip out spleens and remove feet because someone said the wrong thing?"

"The feet weren't random," Kermit countered. "Let's see if I can think of his reasoning… Paul walked into somewhere and got the pills, right? Then he ate them, throwing off the medication levels and striking fear into the hearts of everyone else. But the feet let him get there. The hands will probably be next, and that will probably be very messy. I don't know if he'll be more interested in the physics journals or his object lesson."

Danny whimpered, and Darla made a strange twitching motion. In a soft voice, Darla asked "the hands?"

"A lot like the feet, I expect. Since this is a personal lesson, he probably hasn't been keeping a record of what went off in what direction like he did that mathematician, but it'll still be messy and painful for Paul. Count will probably say," Kermit cleared his throat and continued in a voice that was very close to the Count's "the hands that opened the bottle must go next, I think. You vill not make the same mistake again."

"You sounded like him," Darla whispered.

"I've worked closely with him. I ran a theater, and he did the accounting books." Kermit waved one green hand to dismiss the matter. "Scooter helped with the legal permits, and the Count handled the numbers. He didn't want to be on stage."

"I hesitate to consider what he'd do for performance art," Darla commented, her fingers tucking her hair back into place. "Was that before the medication?"

"That was when we were still trying to find effective medication," Kermit replied. "Some of the earlier efforts didn't work very well. There was also one that made things worse."

"Worse? How could things be worse?" Danny blurted.

"He started to sing opera," Kermit shuddered. "You're vampires; you know how long a vampire can go on, and just what not really needing to breathe can do for air support. What it can't do is give you good musical taste. He can sing, but nobody wanted to hear a Wagnerian opera, in the original German."

They both shivered, and neither one pressed for more details.

Several turns of the tunnel later, they came to the open area that served as the Master's great hall. Several minions lurked on the edges, one of them holding a hand over his abdomen and watching suspiciously. Darla glanced at Kermit, and asked, "Do you need me to point out the Master?"

"No, I can tell which vampire's the one in charge," Kermit assured her. "But thanks for the offer."

Kermit took a few steps forward, showing no sign that he felt at all dismayed to be the sudden focus of the attention of several vampires. The one with the bloody abdomen licked fangs, and took a step closer. Kermit let one hand slip into his pocket, and sighed, still with those four large fangs.

Kermit cleared his throat before saying in a clear tenor, "Something happened to throw my friend the Count off his medication? I do hope that you'll let me offer my assistance to get him calmed down and back on his prescription, Master of the Order of Aurelius."

"You are Kermit?" The vampire looked nothing like the Count, except for the same air of power and the same sense of restrained motion. "The Count has spoken of you. Come this way; let us speak in more detail."

Kermit followed him, a small part of his mind wondering what had prompted this vampire's choice of lair, the reasoning behind the leather clothing, and why buckles instead of zippers. However, his time as a reporter had helped his understanding of other people considerably. It was probably the proximity to the Hellmouth, leather was more durable than cloth, and Count had said that many older vampires didn't trust zippers. He could hear the rattling of chains and someone whimpering from a cell as he followed the Master deeper into what looked like a building under the ground.

"I'm guessing that would be most of Paul," Kermit murmured, one hand motioning at the closed door.

"Yes, most of Paul is in the Penitent's Cell," the Master agreed. "Is the Count's medication something that a local chemist will be able to manage?"

Kermit considered the question carefully. If he treated the Master in a similar fashion to the Count, he would probably be safe enough. "It might take them a while, but I brought some with me. I also brought him some physics journals. I don't understand most of what's in them myself, but they can keep him occupied for days at a time."

The Master led the way into a room with talismans and several ornately carved wands, as well as shelves of leather bound books. Some had words on their spines while others only held carvings and arcane symbols. Kermit recognized an old grey volume that looked to be a match for a book that he knew the Count kept in his library. "Can you call the lightning yet? I know that it took the Count a while to get that part."

"If the conditions are right," the Master smiled as he settled into a solid wooden chair. "I have been pursuing other goals."

Kermit considered the vampire's smile and decided not to ask about those goals. "Darla said that the Count was getting a tour. I'll need to start his medication back into him as soon as he gets back here. It will take a while for the medication to get back to the right levels, and he might still be a bit twitchy for a while, but he should be noticeably calmer a few hours after he gets the first pills."

"Good," the Master smiled and clasped his hands together. "I am hoping to avoid anything as obvious as his incident in Williamsburg."

Kermit nodded, remembering the way that his friend had let himself get worked up by the memories of that mathematician. "It doesn't look like the minions will be bringing up number theory, or how the right numbers can… well, let's just say that he does not want to get into the numbers that say bumblebees can't fly, he's got his own numbers that explain why they can, and for the love of... well, if you thought the mathematician in Williamsburg was too obvious, you don't want him to get into a discussion on numerology. We had him medicated and it still caused a big mess."

"I can imagine," the Master smirked. "So the medications don't make him less of a vampire."

"Not at all. They do make him a bit less prone to flying off the handle, and they settle his mind a little. It also takes longer for him to loose his temper when he's on his medication," Kermit elaborated.

"If things work out as easily as you suggest, we may owe you our thanks," the Master ran his finger over a spiraled wand.

"Maybe we should get things back to a more even keel before we sort out who owes anything," Kermit spoke softly, uncertain just what sort of thanks the old vampire might intend.

"Of course, of course," the Master waved one hand. "So, you are familiar with the Count's weather magic?"

"More familiar with the theory than the casting, though I can do a very good five day forecast," Kermit grinned. "That was of great help as a weather-frog."

End part 9.


	10. Chapter ten

Kermit and the Master sat in the Master's study, where one of the minions had brought them each gleaming silver goblets of a thick dark fluid. Kermit tilted his goblet, inspecting the thickness of the fluid, and decided that while there was definitely wine and blood in the mixture, there were also flecks of some sort of herbs. Remembering his limited experiences with the so-called fine art of wine tasting, he took a careful sip. "Did they put ginger in this? And ground beetles?"

"Yes," the Master's smile showed many sharp teeth.

"I'd never had beetles with red wine. Only with white wine and seafood," Kermit leaned back in his chair and took a second sip. "Very different."

"One of my minions had aspirations of being a chef. While that is now very unlikely, I let him tinker with the bloodwine. It keeps him obedient and is less messy than some of the methods that I am forced to use with the others," the Master's voice hinted at those other methods.

"I suppose you probably use more direct methods with some of your underlings as a political vampire than the ways I tried to keep order at the theater," Kermit nodded, thinking back to the Muppet Theater. "Especially the technical crew. The theater would have fallen apart without them."

The master chuckled, "Few would compare keeping vampire minions with running a theater."

Kermit shrugged, "I'm not exactly your average frog, am I?"

"A very good point," the Master agreed. "You picked up a bit of weather magic while serving as a news crier? I suppose they are called reporters now…"

"Yes, as a reporter and weather-frog. Nobody else wanted the weather part, and I didn't have enough seniority at the station to get out of that part," Kermit took another sip from the goblet, and glanced up at the vampire. "Learning a bit of magic after I met the Count was tricky. Almost everybody was avoiding him."

"But you didn't," the Master refilled his goblet from a carafe, and arched one brow. "Why?"

"I've always been too curious. That's one of the reasons that I left home, and part of why I tried being a reporter. The Count was just…" Kermit paused to think of a better way to describe how things had started. Somehow he doubted that 'strange and different and horribly fascinating' would go over well. "There were just too many things that screamed about a bigger story with him. I should consider myself fortunate that very few vampires care for the taste of amphibian."

The Master made a face and a noise that sounded remarkably like 'blearghh'. After another swallow of the bloodwine, the Master agreed, "Amphibian is seldom a large part of the menu of a vampire. Unless they are French or perhaps Cajun."

"Another reason to leave home," Kermit shuddered at the memories.

The discussion turned to sorcerous theory, leaving Kermit very grateful that he'd spent so much time in the Count's library. They were discussing the relative merits of water scrying as opposed to using a mirror when there was a tap on the study door.

"Master? You gave orders that you were to be informed immediately on the Count's return," a voice called from the other side of the door.

"Do his two guides still have all of their pieces?" The Master sounded calm, unconcerned but absently curious about the fate of his minions.

"They are both physically intact, but Alex is mumbling about lamprey demons, orange demons and lightning," the voice replied.

"Send the Count to me," the Master ordered.

It was a very, very short time before the purple vampire opened the door. The candle light gleamed on the monocle and on his fangs as he smiled. "Kermit! I did not expect to see you here! How vonderful!"

Kermit rose from his chair, and poured a goblet of the bloodwine for the Count. "Hopefully you'll enjoy this, I particularly like the ginger."

After the Count accepted the goblet, Kermit pulled the pill bottle from his pocket, shook out three little green pills, and held them towards the Count. "Take these, they'll help you focus and stay calm."

"Von, two, three little green pills," the Count ate them individually, counting each before he swallowed. "I thank you for bringing them. Paul the now wery penitent minion ate the thirty six pills that I had brought vith me."

"He was mentioned when Danny and Darla picked me up at the airport," Kermit commented. He wasn't certain how to ask if the Count was done with Paul without sending the Count off to repeat the lesson a little more if he'd already finished.

"I am not surprised. Some of the minions seemed rather disturbed. Perhaps they felt that I am too short to face a taller opponent," the Count grinned at the idea. "I have had centuries to get used to facing taller opponents."

"Well, when most of the people out there are taller that you are, and you know that isn't likely to change…" Kermit shrugged. It wasn't an uncommon situation among the people that he'd known on Sesame Street, or those that he'd gathered for his theater. "Honestly, I'd rather face someone human sized than Piggy in a bad mood."

"She is most formidable. The wampires of the world are fortunate that she vas not called as a Slayer," the Count took another sip from his goblet, and sighed. "Slayers are much easier to deal vith, you simply awoid them or kill them. But Miss Piggy… that is another matter. She has asked me to build her a castle vhen her career takes off. It is already designed."

Kermit only nodded, unsurprised that Piggy would want a castle of her very own. "Yours have always looked impressive. She probably wants one a bit less shadowy, and without the bats."

"I have newer figured out vhy people don't like the bats," the Count sighed. "They are amusing, I can spend hours counting them, and they sing along vith the pipe organ."

Kermit noticed the surprised look on the Master's face, and decided that it would probably be unwise to get into a long discussion about why bats at a castle was a good or bad thing. He wasn't even going to mention that it wasn't common to encourage them. All he said was, "Most people don't play the pipe organ."

"A very good point, Kermit," the Master agreed. "Playing musical instruments is becoming a much less common talent these decades."

"So is a proper understanding of anatomy," the Count shook his head. "Paul did not ewen know that there are fifty two bones in the feet. I believe his hands vill be next. His hands permitted him to do things vich he should not have done, and so they much be removed. Properly, of course."

"Properly? Is something wrong with a forceful application of a sharp blade?" the question slipped out of the Master's mouth.

"Such a thing is wery quick, and gives little time for the lesson to sink in," the Count explained. "I am leaving detailed notes for the aspiring doctor among your minions."

Kermit blinked. So did the Master.

"Please excuse me, it is time to complete Paul's lessons," the Count drained his goblet and headed for the door.

"Williamsburg," the Master grumbled.

"Similar but without the public discovery," Kermit agreed. "I'm assuming that your minions talk to other people's minions, and to independent demons and vampires. Stories about Paul's lessons are going to get around. At least nobody will tamper with his medication again."

The Master only refilled his goblet again.

End part 10.


	11. Chapter eleven

Several hours later, Kermit left the Master's study. The conversation had skittered along the comparisons of scrying, and the Count's medication had brought up herbal enhanced casting and several types of meditation. The Master preferred meditating by candlelight or staring into a pool of fluid, preferably the blood of his victims or enemies. Kermit had mentioned his long familiarity with meditating by starlight, or with fireflies. Then things had digressed to the Hellmouth, right here in Sunnydale, and the potential results of opening such a thing.

Kermit had been reminded of Sweetums and that fellow's discussions of home, where he was 'the runt of the litter' and how his big brothers were always picking on him for being small and puny. The idea of a whole horde of things that considered Sweetums weak and puny could make him shudder, though he had to be careful about his phrasing to the Master. What he'd actually said was that it might take some time and effort to establish authority over the demonic forces that could emerge from an opened Hellmouth. His first carefully swallowed thought had been that the Master was insane, permitting his ambition to overpower any sense in that ancient fanged skull.

"The pharmacies are all closed by now," the minion was holding a stack of papers splattered with blood along one side.

"I take it that you're all taking an interest in the Count's medication?" Kermit murmured, looking at the minion. "What's on the papers? Other than Paul's blood, I mean."

"Anatomical notes about feet, hands, and teeth," the minion glanced down at the papers, and one hand brushed over them. "With such details and descriptions. Has he ever studied medicine? Surgery, perhaps?"

"He's made a casual study of a lot of things," Kermit paused. "I know he said he dabbled in medicine in the seventeen hundreds, and he has some very unusual methods for discouraging traveling salesmen and tax collectors."

"Involving the meticulous disassembly of the fingers?" Joe trailed his hand over the papers again with a sigh, "I liked the part about the teeth. Not as much as I would have enjoyed the reading if it hadn't come with some of Paul's teeth on the pages, but… I'd never had a chance to look at wisdom teeth before."

"Something like. Everybody will probably be relieved that I brought enough of his medicine to get him back onto it as long as they can fill the prescription in three days," Kermit held up a pill bottle. "Just remember, nobody is to discuss mathematical theory, numerical filing, or the figures claiming that bumblebees can't fly with the Count. Probably not ever."

"He'd mentioned the long bones in the feet being good for runic divination," offered another minion. "What about other methods of divination and scrying?"

"Just…" Kermit winced, "Avoid numerology. He gets pretty worked up about that even when he is medicated."

"How bad is 'pretty worked up', and would it be worse without the medicine?" she asked, following Kermit down the hall.

"The medication focuses his attention, reduces distractions, and helps him with impulse control," Kermit explained. "He was on it the last time anyone brought up the N-divination, and he ended up killing three numerologists, two of their clients, a dog, and a parrot. The secretary was hospitalized for a month, three other clients spent time in psychiatric counseling, and I have no idea what happened to the monkey."

"Monkey?" One eyebrow raised, and then Joe shook his head, "On second thought, I don't want to know."

"You know that rumors have probably started after that tour, right? There's a lot of strange types passing through Sunnydale, but someone like the Count is going to be memorable," she offered.

"Sarah's right, there will be rumors," Joe agreed. "People will talk. Demons, other vampire's minions, maybe even some of the humans. Do you have a plan about that?"

Kermit nodded, "Actually, that's something that I've given some thought. He's probably left a disturbing impression on account of Paul, right?"

"Yeah," Sarah murmured. "And it's too late to keep that from getting around. Even if all of us were to be silenced, there are some rumors out already. Dave went to Willies, and he never could hold his liquor."

"Let the rumors spread, as long as they include that this is only the result of his medication being disrupted," Kermit waved one hand. "I know things will get changed a bit, the details altered, glossed over, and maybe a few things added. As a former reporter, I know how that works. Frustrating as it is on a professional level, I'm not going to try to correct that, just to make sure they know his medication is important. By the time the rumors get out of Sunnydale, nobody will want to tamper with his medication, and nobody will want him taken off of it."

"Has that been a problem before?" Joe asked, rolling the pages and tucking them into a pocket.

"It's come up a few times. You'd be surprised how hard it was to talk a few of the theater staff into letting Bunsen and Beaker work on the formula for his medication. And a few times people have wanted it stopped, mainly due to concerns for a few of the ingredients…" Kermit sighed. "But I'm sure those aren't anything you'd want to hear about."

"Are there a lot of frogs like you?" Sarah asked, watching Kermit. "Large, walking, talking, full of plans and systems?"

"Some parts are easier than others. Frogs around my size that can walk and talk aren't so unusual, if you know where to look. Everybody has plans. You have plans, Joe has plans, the Master has plans…" Kermit shook his head. "The idea of going out somewhere for dinner is a plan. So is opening the Hellmouth. Just because they aren't on the same scale doesn't meant they aren't both plans. I wanted to leave home, I became a reporter, and I ran a theater. My brother Curtis runs a swamp tour. My brother Daniel just hangs out all day, fishing and playing a banjo. Different scales of plans."

"A banjo?" Sarah tilted her head, and then sighed. "I give up. I don't want to know. I really don't."

"And what sort of plans do you have now, Kermit?" Joe asked.

"Sort out the Count, make sure that rumors of what happens spread in such a way that nobody will ever interfere with his medication again, and keep Gonzo from getting us into more trouble with the government," Kermit answered promptly. "Most of the time, everybody else manages to keep things low key enough to avoid trouble."

"So, you're a master frog. And you have your former theater people, who aren't exactly your minions?" Joe asked, his yellow eyes narrowed.

"Please don't suggest that the Count is anyone's minion," Kermit commented.

Joe and Sarah exchanged glances, deciding that Kermit's answer was close enough to a 'yes' for them. Kermit the master frog, ruler of the former Muppet Theater and Sesame Street. And he was here to save them from the Count.

"Sounds powerful," Sarah murmured.

Joe nodded, and they caught sight of Alex and Danny. "Don't mess with the frog."

"Of course not," Danny snapped. "He's met Vincent Price!"

"What sort of theater was he running that he can be so calm about the Count? And what sort of staff and crew could there have been?" Sarah glanced back the way Kermit had gone.

"One that had a great line up of special guests," Danny sighed. "Vincent Price, Sylvester Stallone, Lena Horne, Mark Hamill, Sandy Duncan, Alice Cooper, Juliet Prowse, Milton Berle, Madeline Kahn, George Burns…"

"We get the idea. Lots of people, and most of them famous," Joe interrupted.

"If he could run a theater that got guests like that," Sarah whispered, "Why did he ever stop? Even if the Count did remove a few people, if he was pulling in that caliber of special guests…"

"I think we should just stay out of Kermit's way when he decides on a plan," Joe insisted. "Kermit wants us to make it clear that the only reason the Count's acting the way he is, being so scary, is because his medication got interrupted. So, we make it clear that this is only going on because the medication was stolen."

"Everything?" Danny asked, fidgeting a little.

"Well, maybe not the 'take me to your leader' or the three eyed dragon in the cemetery," Joe allowed.

"Kermit will get him behaving again, and then they'll both leave." Sarah smiled, "And everything will be normal again."

"Yes," Joe nodded. "Nobody do anything to interfere with Kermit's plans."

End part 11.


	12. Chapter twelve

The rest of the night passed quietly for those in the Master's lair

The rest of the night passed quietly for those in the Master's lair. Darla smirked at the frightened minions, one hand smoothing her short plaid skirt. "I'd mock them for being easily frightened, except that I do remember the Count and what happened at Williamsburg."

"Indeed," the master growled, and then shook his head. "I will be in my study. I do not wish to be disturbed unless the Count is rampaging, the world is ending, or someone has located the Slayer."

The minions murmured various things in their agreement, and moved out of his way. Sarah glanced at Darla, down the corridor the Master had walked down, and then back to Darla. Stepping closer to Darla, she whispered, "Why are you dressed like a Catholic school-girl? It doesn't exactly inspire fear."

Darla chuckled, "It isn't supposed to inspire fear, dear girl. What it does is appeal to the dark and perverted predators out there who want nothing better than to find some sweet, sheltered little school girl and drag her clueless ass off somewhere to despoil. The outfit takes centuries off my age, and it makes catching dinner so easy that I can spend most of the night playing with them before I kill them."

"Wow," Sarah murmured. "That sounds very useful. Very, very useful… your inner comes right to you and takes care of finding somewhere out of the way."

"Just because I have a pretty face doesn't mean I'm a fool," Darla smiled. "Come with me, I'll help you figure out something that will bring dinner right to you."

In a quiet room with a crack along the wall, the Count ran his hand over one, two, three physic journals that Kermit had brought him. He knew well that his friend didn't understand the finer points of string theory, fractal mathematics, or quantum theory. Despite that lack of knowledge, Kermit always knew which journals to bring. Perhaps it was the frog's eye for detail remembering the names of the journals that he followed, or perhaps Kermit was blessed with phenomenal luck. Regardless of the cause, he knew that things had gone more smoothly since he'd befriended the frog. "You try to take good care of us, my friend. Even those of us who scare the others."

His gaze fell on the small bottle of green pills, and he made a mental not to take his next dose in one, two, three, four hours. Perhaps some day he would ask what the pills were made from? On second thought for the nine hundred seventy third time, he decided that he didn't want to know what Bunsen and Beaker would put in a pill to soothe him. He opened the first journal to the paper of W. Burkle and settled into his reading.

As for Kermit, he explored the lair, mapping it out before claiming his own guest room and going to sleep near sunrise, very much like the vampires that he was staying among. He asked a few questions about how the tunnels connected with the rest of Sunnydale, listening with apparent interest as Alex explained how they could get to almost anywhere in Sunnydale without braving daylight. There were even tunnels to seven different cemeteries. Kermit hadn't commented on the nervous reactions of some of the minions when they saw him or Danny's awe at the fact that he'd actually met Vincent Price and Alice Cooper.

As the sun set, Kermit talked with the Count. He ended up listening to the Count talk about the articles, nodding and smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. He didn't understand all of it, but he could sort out that the Count was pleased to see another article by Burkle, and annoyed at the way the editor had broken up a paper in the second journal. It was probably a good thing that the Count didn't know where the editor in question lived. He worried more about evaluating of the effects of the medication and the Count's mood.

After a while, he reminded the Count to take his medicine on schedule, and left him to his reading.

"Well?" Alex and Sarah were hovering, looking ready to run or attack at a moment's notice.

"The Count is once again under the soothing effect of his medication. As long as nobody does anything deliberate to aggravate him and nobody brings up numerology, the numbers claiming that bumblebees can't fly, or tax fraud, we should all be just fine," Kermit smiled. "So, what is there to do in Sunnydale after dark?"

"Alex, why don't you give him the tour? You gave it to the Count, and Kermit's much less likely to rip out your spleen," Sarah grinned, her fangs peeking out at them. "Sunnydale's not that big on ordinary tourist things."

"I spent my tadpole-hood in a swamp," Kermit offered. "There's a lot that you take for granted that I didn't do when I was little."

"In that case, I suppose the tour might not be that disappointing," Alex gave a small smile, and then added, "I can pick up dinner while I'm out."

Kermit gave a shrug and said, "Lead the way. Count seemed pretty impressed, and I think it was more than the fact that there are nineteen cemeteries."

"Nineteen? I hadn't ever counted them…" Sarah shook her head. "Never mind. Go, see the sights, have fun."

With that encouragement, Alex led Kermit out to the streets of Sunnydale. He figured that they'd start at the Alibi bar and move on from there.

End part 12.


	13. Chapter thirteen

Alex grinned at Kermit, "Our tour should start here. No visit to Sunnydale is really complete without a stop at Willie's Alibi, the best place in town for onion blossoms and bloody mixed drinks."

The Alibi seemed quiet, with an assortment of human, near human and clearly non-humans hanging around, drinking, munching on various fried appetizers, and watching the sports channel on the large television in the corner. Not surprising at all, considering that bars seemed to be bars regardless of where they were and who or what they served. Kermit was the shortest being in the bar by two feet, which didn't surprise the frog at all.

"A Budweiser, please," Kermit spoke toward the man behind the bar.

"That's Willie," Alex murmured. "He runs this place, and tends to know a lot of the rumors about what's going on and who's in town."

Willie the barman passed Kermit a beer, not asking for any form of identification. Instead, he asked a different question, "So, you're the one who's supposed to get the Count back under control? How's that going for you?"

"Back on his medication," Kermit corrected, taking a swallow of beer. "And yes. Things are going well for getting him properly medicated again. Just as long as nobody else takes his pills."

Half the people in Kermit's line of sight shuddered.

"I'll have a Snakebite," Alex said, glancing over at the jukebox. "Nobody's going to be stupid enough to take the Count's pills. Especially not if they've heard what happened to Paul."

"What happened t' Paul?" the deep rumble came from someone that might have been at least mostly human.

"The Count got angry," Kermit shrugged, and sipped at his beer. "And then he made Paul very sorry."

"How? Paul's an unrepentant nasty piece of work," the large man rumbled.

"The Count carved his feet away before used his toe bones for dice and the bones of his feet for casting runes. Then he did the same to his hands, and pulled every one of Paul's teeth. To make things worse, he took detailed notes through the whole thing," Alex shuddered, and downed the rest of his drink in a single swallow. "Give me another one, Willie."

There was a horrified curiosity in the now silent bar as Willie gave Alex another drink.

Kermit glanced over at another vampire, and offered, "The Count verified that there are fifty two bones in the feet by carefully removing them one bone at a time."

"The drinks are on the house, just… don't say another word about what happened to Paul," squeaked the barman, his face taking on a greenish cast.

"Fair enough," Kermit agreed.

Once Kermit had finished his Budweiser and Alex had finished his second Snakebite, they left Willie's Alibi. The rest of the patrons watched uneasily until the door closed behind Kermit.

Sunnydale had the look of a town that was slowly withering, clinging to the glory of an almost forgotten heyday. There was a large area that housed a railroad stock yard and over a dozen officially abandoned large factories and one cannery that still operated. Other small shops were there as well, some in use and others boarded over and dark. Here and there were buildings that showed signs of use despite being boarded over with broken, dull lights.

"This is a pretty popular part of town for lairs," Alex commented, waving his hand at all the buildings. "Some of the allies don't even get any direct sunlight except right at noon."

"I suppose that would be convenient for a vampire," Kermit agreed. "The Count has mentioned a few magical methods for dealing with the sunlight, but I got the impression that those were pretty uncommon."

"Yeah, that's one way to look at it," Alex snorted. "Damn near legendary would be another."

Alex explained the way a family of Fyarls had taken over an old slaughterhouse, and the twelve week infestation of some nasty little things with big triangular ears that multiplied in water that they'd faced, eventually eliminating the last of the so-called gremlins in an old shoe factory.

He was just about to start in on a story about the old cookie factory when something made a crunching noise behind them. "That can't be good…"

There were two pale and skinny demons standing there, with long bony arms ending in wicked talons. They bared rows of pointy teeth at then before lunging forward with threatening clicking noises.

Kermit tried to leap out of the way, evading a swipe of claws that left gouges in the brick wall. Alex kicked at the kneecap of the closest demon, smiling at the loud pop that his foot made and the way the kneecap crumpled.

The bony demon roared in pain, revealing that it had two rows of narrow fangs in that wide mouth, not just one.

The demon backhanded Alex, the impact sending him crashing into the wall before slumping down in an immobile heap.

The other grabbed Kermit around the throat while he was dodging the one with the broken kneecap. Kermit could feel the tips of the claws digging into his shoulder, and he reached up, trying to pry away the grip. It didn't help, and he kept struggling until his vision went dark.

End part 13.


	14. Chapter fourteen

The Count turned the page in his physics journal, preparing to read the article on a recent study in quantum physics

The Count turned the page in his physics journal, preparing to read the article on a recent study in quantum physics. No sooner had he read the author's name and contemplated the other articles that he'd read by Dr. Tashir Ranminjir than the tiny alarm beeped at him. "Vhat… ahh, yes. It is time to take another three green pills. I do hope that Kermit is enjoying his tour of Sunnydale."

"Vun, two, three," the Count swallowed the pills, grimacing at the taste. Pushing aside his musings of how Kermit would react to Sunnydale, he returned his attention to the article by Dr. Tashir Ranminjir and the delights of the quantum.

The tiny alarm beeped again, dragging his attention from the joy of dancing numbers. It was time to take more of his green pills. Swallowing them down, he stepped out of the room, half expecting Kermit to have returned, mind spinning with ideas and observations about Sunnydale. But Kermit had not returned. Nor had he checked back, or even sent a message with another of the Master's minions.

The Count reminded himself that Kermit was a grown frog, and highly intelligent. He had spent several years as a reporter, managed the theater without loosing his mind, killing the annoying underlings, the special guests, or the health inspectors. Beyond that, Kermit had studied a bit of sorcery, enough to give him an advantage against an opponent, and knew a little about fighting. He'd also been doing well for himself since the theater had been forced to shut down. "He should be just fine. Kermit is a wery capable frog."

He picked up the thesis by W. Burkle; permitting the dance of numbers to pull him away from all thoughts of Sunnydale. She had a delightfully fresh perspective, and he had the feeling that the numbers spoke to her, whispering their secrets in a way that far too few ever gave any heed. The numbers held the secrets and power of the universe.

The rising sun demanded his attention, despite the dozen feet of earth and concrete between himself and any stray sunbeam. With gentle hands, he placed the thesis beside the candle, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. "I must ask Kermit his thoughts about this town. Perhaps some of the older buildings vill have inspired him for another project. Some of his ideas have been delightful."

He stepped out of his guest room, pulling the door closed behind him and ignoring the way the one minions scurried away, mumbling about his tender new spleen. Had the fool not been so arrogant and disrespectful, he would still have the previous spleen. He walked towards the main hall, uncertain which guest room Kermit had appropriated. "They should have returned by now."

He looked around the hall, frowning as he spotted Joe and Danny whispering in a corner. Sarah leaned against the wall, one hand on a stack of colorful paperbacks. He could hear the faint whimpers from Paul, and thought that it might be time to finish the foolish minion off, before Paul's suffering and screams drove the others to insanity and reckless behavior. He could even see the dropped form of a soon to be minion, not yet awakened.

He did not see Alex or Kermit.

"Vhere is my frog?" The growled words caught the attention of the others, and he could see Danny cringe.

"We haven't seen him or Alex since they left for the tour," Joe spoke, one hand tracing over the blocks of the wall. "They should have come back by now."

Frowning, the Count considered all the many ways that Sunnydale could have interfered with Kermit's tour. Alex was a vampire, he would not just let things run late and into the daylight when the sunlight could wound or kill him. There were eighty six possibilities that sprang to mind, all but two of them entirely unacceptable.

He left the hall, gathering a large silver platter, a pitcher of clean water, and a handful of salt. A simple water scrying would be no challenge for a sorcerer of his skill, even over the Hellmouth. Kermit was well known to him, and the distance should be relatively small. Pouring the water over the platter, he chanted, dribbling the salt into a few runes to activate the power. "Show me my frog. Show me vhat has interfered with Kermit and his safe return."

Power swirled over the platter, tiny crackles of lightning and the water darkened to look closer to blood. An image formed, showing Alex and Kermit waking down the seventh alley in the industrial section, before a pair of tall demons attacked. Their gangly limbs, wicked talons and double rows of sharp teeth gave an intimidating first impression, but that species was quite vulnerable to blunt force at their joints and in the midst of their bones. He watched as the image played over the fight, the demons slamming Alex against a wall and leaving him in an unmoving heap. The second had seized Kermit by the neck, holding him until his struggles ceased. They had gestured, before leaving, still carrying the unmoving form of Kermit.

He released the spell with a snarl. "They have taken my frog. They do not have the right, the authority to do that to him. The owner of Sesame Street news held authority, before he released Kermit from their staff. The owner of Kermit's apartment building on Sesame Street held some authority before Kermit moved away. Bunsen holds authority inside his laboratory. Out here, only I hold authority ower him, for he has been learning from me. I vill show them vhy it is not vise to anger Count vonCount."

In eight minutes, he found a telephone and called Dwight. No longer helping with the Muppet Theater sets, the large blue ogre had been rather at a loss for purpose. "Dwight, you vill ensure that no Maerrocholiths leave Sunydale alive until I give other orders."

"Why? They don't normally bother us any," Dwight rumbled, doubtless scratching at his head.

"They have abducted Kermit, and for that they shall pay," Count hissed. "Make certain they can not escape under the light of the sun."

"Yessir," Dwight agreed. "I hope Kermit's okay…"

"If he is not, none of them shall leave this area in pieces larger than my thumb." Count concluded his conversation with Dwight, and made another call. It took twenty three minutes and seventeen seconds before he had ensured that the Maerrocholiths would not be leaving Sunnydale, and neither would anything capable of giving them orders. He would find whoever had Kermit, and after the sun set he would retrieve his frog.

Returning his attention to the scrying, he focused on learning who was commanding the Maerrocholiths. They weren't smart enough to go around abducting people, not even to keep as food for later. They did make tolerable minions for those who would accept a vague adherence to commands and excessive violence in the execution of their enemies.

Perhaps the realms of the dead would have mercy on the remnants of those responsible. He certainly wouldn't.

End part 14.


	15. Chapter fifteen

Kermit regained consciousness, his head aching and his knees bruised. As he continued his self-evaluation, he determined that his throat was sore, but wouldn't interfere with swallowing or breathing, and he was somewhere with plenty of humidity, though there was a salty tang that suggested this place was near the ocean. Opening his eyes, he amended that to 'near the ocean and equipped with a dungeon.'

Slowly, Kermit stood up, his knees having taken on a darker color from the bruising, a hue that he was certain decorated his throat as well. One hand touched his head, disliking the heavy, wobbly feeling that had to be a result of that tall, bony demon throttling him into unconsciousness before carrying him off to here. He began to smile when he inspected the bars making up the wall of the cell facing the hallway. Each bar was a half inch thick, spaced with eight in gaps, and reinforced with horizontal connectors at about three and a half and seven feet of what seemed to be a ten foot hall.

Kermit slipped between them with little difficulty. The hallway was poured concrete, and he could see moisture beading along the lower half of the walls, and collecting along the edge of the floor to his left, suggesting that he floor wasn't quite level. About thirty feet down from his cell, he could see a ventilation shaft, with a couple access panels.

His throttling had definitely got to him, leaving his head spinning as he popped open the ventilations ducts and slipped inside, wincing as the hatch clanged when he closed it behind him. He didn't know who had arranged for him to be brought here, but their hospitality was quite lacking. Seeking answers, Kermit began following the duct, going with the airflow – after all, he doubted that the responsible person was hanging out in the furnace!

Kermit paused to rest as he moved along the next floor up from his cell, wondering if this was ground level or if someone had built multiple levels below the ground. An arm's length ahead was an area of open grillwork, permitting the warmed or cooled air to go into a room. Something in the room was clicking. The clicking reminded him a great deal of the pale demons that had grabbed him, and he spared a thought to wonder if Alex was safe, if he'd managed to avoid the sunlight. Hopefully the Count wouldn't blame this unpleasantness on Alex…

The Count would not be happy about this. This would be certain to get him quite agitated, medication or no medication. Things would probably get messy.

"Zyrtec! Did you secure him?" The voice was a tenor, carrying an accent that Kermit couldn't quite place. From the words and the arrogant tone, he was probably in charge, or at least well placed in whatever the power structure was in this building. Whoever this was, his vocal set up was quite similar to that of a human, if he wasn't human himself, though at the moment, Kermit couldn't decide which was more likely.

There was clicking and tapping in response.

"Excellent. You and Keflex may go, just send Clomid to speak to me. I need to know if the ritual can be performed tonight."

More clicking, and then footsteps going farther away, and the sound of a door closing.

Kermit pondered what he'd overheard, and what it meant. He had minions, at least three of them. There had been two of the tall and bony clicking demons that had grabbed Kermit, presumably one or perhaps both of them had been in the room. Of course, Kermit wasn't quite certain what that type of demon was or what they needed – a pity. If he had a better understanding of what they were and what they wanted, he might have been able to persuade them away from their current boss. As it was, he would just have to try to avoid the pair of them – Keflex and Zyrtec. Names could be useful to remember, and he was fortunate to have a good memory for them. He wondered if the third name – Clomid – belonged to another of the same species or if he or she was something else entirely.

The question about securing him raised unwelcome thoughts. Apparently, the man in charge was used to kidnapping people, presumably for the ritual that Clomid was assisting with. Reflecting on the some of the Count's books that he'd looked through, Kermit decided that this ritual would be bad for his health, and he had no intention of being involved. It might be a good idea to disrupt it as completely as possible…

********

Before he continued scrying, he should probably finish a few matters. It was a bad idea to leave loose ends dangling while things got busy, it lead to enemies in the stronghold, slaughtered minions, and someone attempting to introduce sharp things to one's internal organs. Even if he wasn't using most of them, he didn't want his internal organs punctured, and certainly not because he didn't take care of matters properly. He tucked the physics journals into his suitcase, in the outermost pocket, where they would be easily accessible. The bottle of pills that Kermit had brought were placed on the bedside table next to the alarm that would remind him of when he should take his medication. There was something else… ah, yes, he'd almost forgotten Paul.

It didn't take long to go to the small cell where most of Paul dangled from chains. The lack of hands had forced him to tighten the chains until they dug into the flesh of his arms and wrap them around twice. It would have caused dark bruises, impaired circulation, and inevitable sores had Paul been mortal, but then again, a mortal would have bled to death without prompt cauterization of the wounds. Likewise, Paul had no feet, and he'd had to remove the minion's teeth after he'd tried to bite at him. Being a firm believer in doing a thing thoroughly and correctly, he'd removed them all.

"You have been suitably punished, and have served your purpose. There is no longer a need to keep you here," the Count told Paul. He saw the gleam of hope and the glint of suspicion in the minion's eyes, remarkably similar expressions. "Such injuries as I have inflicted on you rarely heal properly; I shall have to put you out of your misery."

He tore Paul's heart out as easily as he had removed the other minion's spleen.

Before leaving the cell, he used a small bit of magic to extinguish the charcoal brazier where he had burned the strips of muscle and skin, ensuring that each coal and bit of ash was cold. It would be inexcusable to start a fire in his friend's lair out of carelessness. That matter taken care of, he left the cell, brushing dust of Paul from his hands.

The lair was quiet as the Count continued his scrying. He found the building where the Maerrocholiths had taken Kermit, though there was something that prevented him from getting clear images from inside. Obviously, whomever had taken use of the building knew ways to inhibit mystical spying. "It matters little, you have taken my frog, you vill pay. I prefer payment in blood and bone, and I do not accept personal check."

Walking to the doorway, he called out, knowing that the minions had someone keeping track of where he was. "I vant vun of you to come here, I have a few questions."

The small alarm timer that Kermit had left rang, signaling that it was time to take another pill. With a small sigh, the Count took his medication, deciding that it would be best to remain focused on properly punishing the ones responsible for Kermit being detained, possibly even injured. His friend wouldn't mind too much, as none of his minions would dare, it could only be the work of someone else, someone trying to gain power in his friend's territory.

"Yes, your Countness?" Danny had appeared at the doorway, nervous and fidgeting.

"You remember that Alex took Kermit on a tour of Sunnydale. They vere interrupted by a pair of Maerrocholiths. I have made arrangements for the Maerrocholiths to be detained in Sunnydale, and I have located the place vere they have taken Kermit. But scrying is not the most precise vay to find things, and someone must help me determine vere the building is. Come, I vill show you the building from the outside, and you, who are familiar vith Sunnydale, you vill tell me vere it is and how to get there." The Count gestured for Danny to step inside, and summoned the image of the building once again. "Kermit has been taken into this building. Vere is it?"

Danny swallowed, and edged towards the silver platter slowly. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands underneath and as close to out of sight as he could manage, and avoided looking at the Count. "That's… it's one of the old cannery buildings. I think there were some major interior renovations about fifty years back when a pack of werewolves took it over, but they got ran out by some demons after a particularly wild full moon… It's past the docks, a little south. Rather out of the way, really, and not connected to the sewer tunnels… That's why none of the long term vampires have used it. Run a bit late in the mornings and you're scorched."

"You can tell me exactly vere it is? Show me on maps?" the Count demanded.

"Yes," He nodded, and whispered, "You finished Paul off, didn't you? Are there going to be more medical charts with little bits of him stuck between the pages?"

"No further charts vere needed. He has been put out of his misery. Now I am turning my attention to the one who has taken my frog, and also attacked vun of the minions of my good friend. The person responsible vill need to be made an example of, so that I do not need to be distracted by another attempt in a few years. I have arranged for people to deal vith the maerrocholith demons, they are not the ones making the poor decisions. Sveetums, Thudge and Dvight vill take care of them for me, or perhaps for Kermit. That does not matter. That leawes the vun giwing the orders to me." His eyes seemed to glow, and he rubbed his purple hands together. Obviously, this person had not paid attention to the rumors about Paul, and had not heard about Williamsburg.

Or perhaps the person who had arranged for Kermit's kidnapping had no idea that he was bringing himself to the attentions of Count vonCount. It did not matter, deliberate or not, he would still pay.

He watched carefully as Danny produced a map, pointing out the former cannery being used as a lair, the place where Kermit had been taken. The best roads to get there were also pointed out; though Danny reminded him "we can't go for a while yet. Not until the sun sets at least."

Danny had cringed at the growl that had escaped, and almost squeaked, "We're flammable! Sunlight, whoosh, flames... We can't go outside yet. Maybe you aren't worried about terminal sunburn, but we are."

"Mmmm. Either I vill need to handle matters mysewlf, or vait until dark," the Count pondered that irritating fact. He decided not to mention that he'd enchanted his medallion to protect him from the sunlight several centuries ago, and that protection was the true reason why he'd kept to the formal style of clothing. There wouldn't be time to make another protective talisman, so it would only cause problems to mention his immunity. Especially since it didn't protect him from other sources of harm, and if the whole lot of them attacked at once, he could easily loose the medallion, or perhaps even be killed. No, that wasn't at all acceptable. "Tell me ewerything you know about the building."

End part 15.


	16. Chapter sixteen

Danny spoke for a while about the old factory. He mentioned the surrounding beaches, with the stony beach to the south where the water demons tended to slip in and out of the town and the treacherous sandy beach just north where there was an unpredictable undertow, capable of stealing away even a skilled vampire swimmer. Bodies caught in the undertow sometimes washed up about fifty miles down the coast. He mentioned the rusted over rail spur that had been used to ship away fish or cans or whatever had been produced back in the twenties and thirties, when the factory had been used for industry, and the small rail yard that had still held a few rusting train cars a few years ago.

He asked Danny more questions, until he was certain that he knew where every last road that lead to the factory could be located and the best ways to get from here to there. He asked about the rail line, and about the ocean, frustrated by Danny's lack of knowledge concerning the currents and tidal changes.

"You are frightening my minions again, old friend," the Master's voice held traces of amusement. "While I understand your desire to retrieve your frog and confess to wanting whoever interfered with my minion punished, I am uncertain that my resources will be sufficient."

"Dvight and Thudge are in Sunnydale and vill insist that they be permitted to assist in Kermit's rescue. Sveetums may assist us as vell, or perhaps he vill be detaining Maerrocholiths. Dvight and Thudge vill meet us near the abandoned Texaco station on the primary access road for the cannery. They are all large and strong, though not terribly smart," the Count replied, tracing along the road on the map that he'd questioned Danny over.

"You wouldn't have called in humans to work with my minions. What are Dvight and Thudge?" the Master rubbed at his chin, glancing from the Count to the map.

"I believe they are considered to be different clans of ogres, as Sveetums vould be," the Count tapped at the edge of the map, and shook his head. "Sveetums might vell eat the Maerrocholiths and join the group assaulting the cannery. I simply consider them to be Kermit's minions and leave the details to him."

"Kermit has ogres for minions. What does a theater need ogres for?" the question slipped out.

"I believe he used them as a combination of security and moving heavy scenery as vell as some structural repairs. Sometimes the performances caused some damages to the theater… Kermit also had them accompany him to seweral meetings," The Count shook his head, knowing that this was not the time to let himself get caught up in the memories of the Muppet Theater. Though things had certainly been interesting. Kermit's abilities had been wasted as a reporter, simply wasted. Such waste was quite offensive, as he'd had to explain to the owner of the news station.

"Perhaps my minions will learn something from this. I will leave you to make your plans, my friend," the Master left the room, shaking his head and muttering something that the Count didn't catch.

It took another two hours before it was late enough that the minions would follow. The Texaco station was on the way towards the cannery, and the Count was confident that the ogres would be capable of dealing with any security demons that the one responsible for taking Kermit might have available. Letting his mind flit over the various possible reasons why someone might have taken Kermit – ranging from the need of a weather frog to a taste for amphibian and including thirty one magical rituals, the Count made his way up the ladder to the manhole cover. "…three rungs, four rungs, five rungs, six rungs, sewen rungs…"

The cover was removed, and a face covered in shaggy blue and purple fur with a couple sharp teeth jutting out grinned down at him. All three eyes blinked before a raspy voice emerged between the teeth, "Count! This place is amazing! We have to tell Oscar about it!"

"Vhat vould Oscar vant vith Sunnydale? It seems far too sunny for his tastes," the Count asked, stepping to the side and wiping his monocle off with a dark green handkerchief.

Thudge glanced around, and leaned down so that his head was only a foot above the Count before he attempted to whisper, "Rental real estate."

"Is that vhat he's been up to since he left Sesame Street. I had noticed that his trashcan seemed to have become the home of Grungetta instead… You say he is renting space?" The Count let his mind drift along that thought, considering the average amount of space required on a sidewalk for the traditional round aluminum trashcan – most falling between thirty two and thirty seven inches in diameter – and considered the many alleys in Sunnydale. There were also so many abandoned buildings…

"The Maerrocholiths don't know much."

The deeper voice of Dwight caused several of the minions to jump. Looking up at the massive figure, one of the minions made a noise rather like a squeak and almost fell back down the still-open manhole.

"They are not wery smart. Vhat did they have to say, Dvight?" the Count asked the other ogre.

"Ummm…." One massive hand rubbed at his chin, and the other hand lifted the bony arm of a Maerrocholith, absently using the arm to scratch the back of his shoulders. "The place is near the ocean, stinks of fish, and their boss is a sorcerer. But he doesn't have a walking broom or a mouse apprentice."

"Anything else?" The Count replaced his monocle, and glanced around. There was no sign of the rest of the Maerrocholith, or of any additional remains. The fuel pumps remained, with a pair of large vans parked next to them. A swarm of shaggy, snaggle-toothed creatures were hanging on the farther van, their eyes gleaming in the streetlights.

"There's not much meat to them."

"If this sorcerer has other minions, they might be a bit more substantial. Ve have the address and directions," he turned to the minion vampires. "Danny, give the directions to Dvight."

The directions and a map passed over to the ogre, Danny glanced around, as if searching for something.

The Count ignored Danny the minion's distress as he made his way to Dwight's van, settling himself in the passenger side seat. He noticed as he fastened his seat belt that the driver's side front seat had been removed. "Ve do not know the reason vhy Kermit vas taken. I suggest ve rescue him as soon as possible."

"yessir," Dwight grunted, tossing the Maerrocholith arm to the side as he made his way to the van.

After that, it was only one hundred and thirty seven seconds before both vans were rumbling down the road towards the former factory where Kermit had been taken.

End part 16.


	17. Chapter sewenteen

The trip to the former cannery took exactly thirty-one point four miles, due to several twists in the road, and took forty two minutes. The Count could hear a multipart song from the other van, with parts in English, parts in Spanish, and parts in a language he didn't recognize. He could also hear one of the vampire minions muttering soft words, a prayer to 'whatever watched over little vampires'.

A chain link fence surrounded the building, with a tangle of barbed wire running along the top. The driveway passed beside a small gatehouse with a pair of Maerrocholiths and a Fyarl standing guard. There didn't appear to be any signs of surveillance cameras, and continual scrying would be rather draining for the sorcerer to maintain. The Count doubted that the guards would be much trouble or very bright… but there were other ways.

As the shaggy little monsters swarmed towards the guards at the gate, the Count called, "I vant vun of them alive!"

"They aren't that bright. Not the Fyarl's either," Danny mumbled.

"They do not need to know the answers themselwes. Now that ve are here, I can use vun of them to learn vhat I need to know," he began rolling up his sleeves, not wanting them to be completely ruined. Of course, if it was the Fyarl they took alive, then that wouldn't help. Considering the divinatory arts that he had learned, the Count looked back at the guardhouse. "On second thought, I just need vun of them relatively intact. They can be dead. It might simplify things."

"Umm… why? Once they're dead, that can't talk, even if they did know something useful." Alex glanced at the Count and then immediately opened the door of the van, jumping out of the rusted vehicle. "Dead's the end."

The Count moved towards the gate and the little guard station, smiling as the shaggy minions scuttled away from one of the Maerrocholiths. For the moment, it was still breathing, though the blood that was flowing from dozens of wounds and the absence of the back of its skull suggested that the condition would soon change, even if nobody did anything. "Runic diwination is useful in some circumstances. Others require a more hands on methodology. Vhat do you know about extispicy?"

"Does it have to do with hot wings?" Alex trailed behind the Count, watching as the vans rolled towards the now raised gate.

"No."

"How do spices tie into divination?" Danny asked, the words slipping out of his mouth.

"There are seweral traditions of diwination that read the entrails. Vun tradition did so at the coronation of a king or the ascension of a priest. A second vas to read the futures for children of influential families. A third tradition, close to vhat I shall do, looked for useful information for war leaders. This vill tell me if there are any particular protections on the premises beyond those that block scrying spells."

After a moment's consideration of the stars, the direction of the ocean, and the current phase of the moon, the Count knelt to the left side of the Maerrocholith. "This vill hurt for a short vhile…"

The blade of the scalpel opened the demon up from sternum to sacrum, the dark red blood welling up from the incision. His second slice went across the first, half way between the bottom of the ribcage and the highest point of the hips. The Maerrocholith arced, teeth clicking as it tried to scrabble away from the Count. "Danny, Alex, I vant each of you to hold down an arm."

Ignoring the clicking teeth, the Count pulled at the skin, pulling it back to reveal the pulsing internal organs, the blood welling up and flowing onto his hands. He rubbed his fingers over the liver, noting the slick red black surface, broken only by the purple blood vessels and the lavender grey coils of intestines. There were several protuberances from the smaller intestine, similar to the appendix of a human, and he pinched the closest between his finger and thumb. There was no gall bladder within this quadrant of the abdomen. He opened the other side, noting that the spleen was swollen and warmer than the other organs. With a shudder, the Maerrocholith went limp, no longer struggling or clicking.

Finishing his inspection, the Count rose to his feet. "The sorcerer has cast seweral spells to protect himself from diseases and from direct spells against him. However, this vill not protect him from more traditional methods. There are more Maerrocholiths, two more Fyarls, and five of the lamprey mouthed demons. Come, let the slaughter begin."

"Uhmmm… what about Kermit?" Dwight's rumbled as he moved towards the front door. "Are we trying to be quiet about this?"

"Kermit has escaped the cell vhere they vere holding him, though he remains in the building. All others inside the building shall perish… feel free to take your time about it," the Count looked at Dwight and then gestured towards the door, his hands sticky with the Maerrocholith's blood. "If you vould get the door for us?"

With a big grin, Dwight slapped his hand against the door. There were several metallic pings, and the hinges groaned before permitting the door to collapse inwards, landing on the concrete with a loud clang. Ducking through the frame, Dwight chuckled, "Door's open."

They had only gone a short ways down the hallway when a pair of Marrocholiths charged at them. The high ceilings of the factory permitted them to stand upright, and their gaunt frames were even taller than the pair of ogres who were determined to rescue their liege-frog. As the first ran past Dwight, the Count spun, his own claws gouging behind the knee to sever the tendon, and raking down the calf in an effort to capture the leg and throw the demon to the floor.

The chittering tone changed from threats to a keen of pain, and the long arms flailed as the demon struggled to retain balance. However, the Count had damaged the leg too severely, and the Maerrocholith fell to the tiled floor, dark blood spraying across the Count, the walls, and over the floor. The swarm of the smaller minions fell over the Maerrocholith, ripping into it with teeth and claws. Dwight and Thudge caught the second, each taking one arm and pulling in opposite direction. With several popping squelches, the cartilage gave way, leaving Thudge with an arm and Dwight with the rest of the demon, though the arm that was still attached by a few determined tendons had been wrenched out of the socket.

Dwight shoved it against the wall, growling "Where's the frog?"

Thudge snapped at the flailing hand, and swung the disconnected arm, effectively slapping the Maerrocholith with its own hand, the talons leaving thin trails of blood across its face.

"They are ignorant cannon-fodder. They do not know vhere Kermit has gone, kill them and be done vith it," the Count snarled. "The vun who gives them orders vill be vaiting."

With growled complaint about never wanting to let him have to have any fun, Dwight snapped the Maerrocholith's neck and followed the Count.

"Vhen ve find the sorcerer, he vill have more minions protecting him. You can have all the fun you vant vith them."

End part 17.


	18. Chapter eighteen

The smaller Muppet minions surged ahead and scattered, with laughter echoing through the building. There was a squeal of metal and then the laughter took on a metallic echo that suggested that they had ventured into the vents. Count vonCount smirked, and gestured for the larger minions and the ogres to follow him as he walked into the building.

"They'll let us know if they find anything?" Alex asked.

Count vonCount gave a small shrug, "Ve might learn that they found something interesting by hearing screams and explosions."

"Oh… screams and explosions… of course."

In precisely three minutes and four seconds, there was a door with a small window. Dwight looked into it before rumbling "Stairs going down."

"Perhaps some of us should go down and some of us remain on this lewel. Ve do not know vhere the sorcerer is vaiting. Do any of you have a preference for vhich vay you go?" The Count rubbed at his chin.

"Down," Alex offered.

"I'll go with him," Dwight gestured towards Alex, and grinned. "I've seen the movies, the baddies always try to get people when they split up."

"Ummm…. Aren't we the bad guys?" Danny asked.

"Not in this!" The Count insisted. "These persons took my frog, ve are simply going to get Kermit back and make certain that they vill newer take vhat is not theirs again. Ve are simply… prowiding an example of vhy breaking some rules should be considered wery carefully before acting."

"By killing them all," Danny spoke slowly. "And we're the good guys here?"

"Yes." The Count's voice left no room for argument.

"I guess that works for me," shrugged Joe. "I'll stick with you."

Alex, Sarah and Dwight made their way down the stairs, with Dwight having to do this awkward little duck and turn to fit through the doorway. "We better find something down here…"

Danny and Joe fell into line behind the Count, with the shaggy, snaggle-toothed Thudge scuttling at the rear of the group. The Count strode through the corridor, one hand making little gestures as he tried to determine if there were any internal magical defenses. The other alternated between clenching into a fist and stretching out into something closer to claws.

They had gone ten yards down the hallway before Joe voiced a soft question.

"What happens if Kermit's been injured?"

The Count stopped, and tilted his head as he considered the question. "IF Kermit is vell, ve kill ewery minion and the sorcerer. If Kermit is no longer vell, then ve shall make them suffer, and they shall have time to rue this day. I have vays to delay death, and to encourage healing."

"Why heal 'em?" Thudge hissed. "Can't we just kill them all?"

"If you heal them, they vill live longer, and ve take more time to explain their errors in judgment. Vith time, vun can be qvite thorough. Much more so than my explanations to Paul the minion," The Count replied.

Joe and Danny shuddered that the mention of what the Count had done to Paul.

"Ahhhhh," Thudge bobbled, and his orange tongue licked over his teeth.

Continuing down the hallway, the vampires were carefully checking each former office door to look for anything. Some sign of Kermit's fate. Minions of the sorcerer responsible for this situation… err, the sorcerer basing operations out of the former cannery. A good reason to barricade themselves somewhere and hide.

They found a room with a dozen old, thick books bound in what might have been leather, though two of them looked like they might be bound in snakeskin. In the same room was a large mirror that only reflected Thudge, a dull copper cauldron that came to the Count's waist, and a collection of black stone knives.

"Sacrificial blades, made from the cooled blood of the Earth… wery nice. He shall not haff the chance to use them again," the Count's fingers hovered over the knives, not quite touching them. "I might vant to come back for those. And the books. Grimores bound in demon hide are not found ewery day."

Danny took the opportunity to shuffle just a little closer to the door, which also meant further from the Count. Danny's expression made it clear that he was not happy to be in the old cannery, and might have preferred to go down the stairs with Dwight. Or perhaps to have remained outside guarding the vans. Or been anywhere but right here.

A sudden loud bellow rent the air, accompanied by the metallic echo of thumping and the far more metallic sound of things scraping over and tearing metal.

"It sounds as if the others haff found someone," the Count mused. "Let us continue on our vay, ve still have not found Kermit or the sorcerer."

More scrapes, thuds, and the sound of tearing metal echoed through the ventilation system, mixed in with roared Fyarl profanity and…

"Was that a plea for mercy?" Joe whispered, his eyes wide.

"Ummm… I don't speak Fyarl, but someone sounds very, very unhappy," Danny whispered back.

The roared words changed to something closer to a deep wail.

"Vhile silwer is more effective against Fyarls demons than iron or steel, there is much to be said for blunt trauma and the application of sharp claws," The Count sounded amused. "I vonder how they got vun into the wentilation shafts? They do not normally fit in somevhere so small."

Thudge's three eyes rolled, and he cackled, "Pull!"

"Yes, that vould most likely explain vhat happened," the Count chuckled. "So vunderful that they bring as much enthusiasm to this as they did to the theater! You can't find that sort of commitment just anyvhere."

The Count stepped out of the room, and waited for the rest to follow him before he turned to face the door. "The things in there could be wery useful. That is vhy the sorcorer should not be permitted to use them against us."

With a strange but precise gesture towards the doorframe, the Count spoke something that had to be a word, though neither Danny or Joe could identify the language or even repeat the general sound of the word itself. It made them feel very small and fragile, and there was what they could only describe as the afterimage of a flash against the door and a sharp clicking sound, much like the snapping of a fresh bone that still held marrow.

"That was magic, wasn't it?" Danny blurted.

"Yes, a simple locking spell. Wery easy to cast, much harder to break unless you know the trigger, or can cast the counter is the same language as the spell itself," the Count sounded rather smug.

"And… what language was it cast in?" Joe ventured.

"That is for me to know, and you…" the Count still sounded smug, "do not need to know. Let us continue our search."

A short distance down the hall, there was a Fyarl arm sticking out of a ventilation shaft, the grate pushed outwards and fallen to the ground, with a few drops of blood smeared on the edge of the ventilation shaft and dripping down the wall. Closer inspection showed that the arm was covered with tiny cuts and bite marks, with crescents of various curvature and depth sunk into the thick skin. One of the fingers was entirely missing, with only a broken bit of the closest finger bone visible amidst the shredded flesh.

Thudge yipped and darted over to the wall, blue fur sticking in every direction. One long, spindly arm reached up and tugged at the Fyarl thumb. The arm fell from the vent shaft, a portion of the upper arm bone sticking a bit past the end of the flesh, and landed on Thudge's head, the hand flopping forwards against his chest.

"Arm…" Danny whimpered.

From beneath them, there was a loud clattering, and the sound of metal squealing. No sooner had the winces from that noise stopped then there was a popping noise and the floor shook, accompanied by the sounds of several people screaming.

"Guess the rest of them found something interesting," Joe glanced at the floor, but the tiles gave no answers.

As they continued walking down the hall, with Thudge gnawing on the Fyarl arm, the screaming from below stopped.

"I did tell them to kill eweryone but Kermit," the Count mused.

End part 18.


	19. Chapter nineteen

As they walked down the hallway, Thudge stopped, tilting his furry head and making a soft noise that wasn't quite a squeak or a yip. Thudge then dropped the now far more bony Fyarl arm and scuttled to the wall next to a ventilation grille.

"I don't suppose someone could open the grille up? It's a lot easier from the outside than the inside," the voice of Kermit the frog emerged from the ventilation grille. "It's good to see you again too, Thudge."

Danny and Joe moved to open the grille, both hoping that Kermit could provide a hint of sanity. Even if he couldn't curb the Count's plans, he could hopefully keep them from becoming collateral damage as a result. "Good to see you again Kermit. Are you injured?"

"A few bruises, a little temporary disorientation. I'm really alright for now," the frog reassured them.

"Vhy did this sorcerer order his minions to bring you here?" the Count demanded.

As Joe and Danny finished opening the grille, Kermit popped out, landing hands first before bouncing into a flip that allowed him to land on his feet. "I slipped out of my cell and started trying to figure a good way out without being recaptured. While I was trying to find the way out, I overheard one guy talking to some minions, ordering them to finish setting up the ritual in the basement, and he wanted me as a sacrifice. As I didn't think that would be enjoyable or healthy, I've been staying out of sight."

"I wouldn't want to be sacrificed," Danny muttered with a shudder.

"That vould only benefit a human sorcerer, and depending on the ritual it could have detrimental side effects," the Count murmured. "A ritual inwolwing the sacrifice of a frog… I don't suppose that you saw the sorcerer?"

"No. He sounded like he was put together the human way, but that leaves human, vampires, certain types of demi-humans… He was out of the area that I could see through the grille. He had a pair of those tall, thin chattery minions with all the teeth, like the ones that grabbed me," Kermit sighed. "There were some very sturdy cells in the dungeon, solid construction, well ventilated, steel bars… but they were obviously intended to hold people a bit bigger than me."

"How can you tell?" Danny asked.

"oh, I squeezed out between the bars. But they were close enough together that you wouldn't have been able to do it," Kermit admitted.

"Hmmmm. Kermit, vhy don't you take some of the minions and empty the magical supply room that ve found. The things are too useful to simply destroy," the Count's words sounded calm, but his fingers were twitching, and sending tiny purple sparks towards the floor, even as his eyes seemed to glow the color of hot coals.

Kermit looked thoughtful for a few moments before sighing, "Sure, why not? Danny, Joe, do you want to help me haul magical things to… I assume you had cars or vans? Or would you rather stay with the Count, find the sorcerer and his remaining minions and help kill them?"

"I'll help you haul the magical stuff, if you can unlock the room. He," Danny pointed his thumb at the Count, "did some sort of magic that sealed the room."

"I know how to open some of his locks," Kermit replied.

"I'll stay and help kill things," Joe answered.

Kermit nodded, and walked towards the ventilation shaft, which was echoing with chattering, scrabbling claws, and the occasional laughter. Kermit hopped up, tapping the metallic side and calling, "Can I get a few hands on set?"

Five of the smaller muppety minions swarmed out, ecstatic to see Kermit, overlapping questions asking if he was okay, what they needed to move, and if there were any more bodies yet.

Kermit smiled at them, insisting "I'm mostly fine, there aren't any bodies here, but there were some things that the Count wanted to keep, and I could use a bit of help taking them to the vehicles. I'm sure that Danny would be willing to lead us back to where the Count left those things."

Danny nodded, "Of course, it's just this way."

"Do remember to kill anyvun who is so foolish as to attack Kermit on the vay out," the Count added.

It wasn't long before Danny, Kermit and the small muppet minions stood in front of the door that the Count had magically locked. Danny fidgeted a little, looking at the faint shimmer that covered the door, "Are you sure that you can open it? Considering what I've seen of him, I don't want to find out what will happen if the lock bites."

Kermit nodded, murmuring, "Today is a Thursday, half moon, yes… I believe that puts him at the fifth in his cycle. If that's not it then it would be the first on account of the medication being disrupted…"

After clearing his throat, Kermit stretched out his hand, not quite touching the shimmer and made a noise that couldn't possibly be part of any human language. It did seem very easy for the frog to make, starting with a deep thrumming and ending with something like a chirp. The shimmering that stretched over the door seemed to pop like a soap bubble, vanishing with the same feeling as when changed in air pressure caused your ears to pop.

"The spell's gone, and," Kermit reached out, turning the handle to open the door, "Door's open, I guess that means it's time to start moving the goodies."

The small muppets began to carry out the books one or two at a time, With Kermit wrapping the obsidian knives in a heavy canvas and picking them up and gesturing for Danny to lift the copper cauldron. Working like that, it was a simple matter to gather almost everything and head towards the van. A small reddish purple muppet moved quickly enough that he'd already deposited a pair of grimores and went back to get the mirror. By the time Kermit had finished arranging everything between the pair of vans, the muppets reported that the storeroom was empty, having returned with several bundles of herbs, some jars of powders in assorted colors, some crystals which they'd haphazardly wrapped in scraps of fabric, some of which appeared to be damp, and a small bronze sickle.

"I think we should just wait here for the rest of them to come back," Kermit suggested.

That was when a piercing shriek echoed from the cannery.

Danny swallowed hard before whispering, "Here's good."

…………………………………

The Count watched Kermit, Danny, and some of the smaller minion muppets head towards the supply room. It was good that Kermit would be clear of the area before things got very messy, there were some things that the former reporter did not need to see. A tiny part of him also felt… concerned, yes, that was a good word for it, concerned that Kermit would not approve of what was soon to happen.

In some ways, Kermit was the product of a gentler age than the Count. Sometimes he understood the harsher realities quite well, but it was sometimes difficult to predict what might offend Kermit's sensibilities. Best to just conceal the messier things from the frog and tell him a few things. Not that Kermit couldn't guess, he was a very smart frog, but there was a difference between guessing about an activity and seeing it in full color, with the scents of the blood, the shattered bone, and the ruptured organs.

A door to what might have once been an office opened, permitting one of the lamprey-like demons to emerge and charge at the Count and Joe with a hiss. The Count twisted to the side, permitting the demon to pass him in an effort to attach to Joe's face, though he had no intention of permitting such a thing to occur to his friend's minion.

Joe dodged to the right, permitting the lamprey demon to smack into the wall, and launched a punch at the demon's head.

The Count spared a half smile at Joe's action, figuring that this would teach the minion that the head was not always a good place to aim – it was bony enough that striking there could be painful. Sometimes the resulting disorientation was enough to make the pain to one's hand worthwhile, sometimes it wasn't. As Joe swore and shook his fingers, the Count lunged forward and slashed across the lamprey demon's spine, severing the spine in the lumbar region, with two full slices and another partial severance. The demon let out a high wail and collapsed, the messages from the brain no longer reaching the legs, and the pain of the slashes and paralysis kicking in immediately. The Count knelt beside it, deciding to give Joe a little helpful advice, since there seemed to be plenty of this type of demon in Sunndyale.

"The head is not a good place to strike these, Joe. The skull is rather thick and bony, the brain vell protected from trauma. It is better to go for the eyes, or the spine," He gestured at the rolling dark eyes of the demon, "Though the eyes are a bit small in proportion, and the sockets haff strong ridges."

"Sometimes you can also disable them by striking at the genitals, though that is less effective on the females, and they sometimes consider that… foreplay," the Count gave a small shudder at those memories. "It is best to strike the spine from behind. It prewents unvelcome misunderstandings of vun's motiwation."

End part 19.


	20. Chapter tventy

The Count flipped the lamprey demon over, catching one flailing clawed arm absently. "Pin the other arm, I vill show you some of the veak points of the body for these demons. Do keep in mind that they haff a layer of protective scales ower most of their body."

"Okay," Joe caught the other arm, placing one knee on the wrist. "Umm… is this one male or female?"

"You are a wampire, look and see," the Count glared at Joe. "You are a minion, you do not need to be a fool as vell."

"Right…" Joe glanced towards the demon's hips, and then back at the Count. "Male."

The Count nodded, "Yes. As I haff already told you, the eyes are a wulnerable point. Note the shape of the ridge around the socket. The throat is thick vith strong muscles, the only place that vill easily part is right behind the corners of the jaw, and that leawes you wulnerable to being bitten… shameful for a wampire."

"Unless you're talking about something as big as that orange demon with the three eyes in the cemetery," Joe shuddered, "Which would be painful."

The Count pulled the scalpel back out and the lamprey demon began to struggle harder, attempting to throw them off and making a high keening noise that made the bump beneath the ears ache on both vampires.

The Count growled and opened the demon from throat almost to the hips, and reaching in to pry apart the ribs, which were joined by cartilage and completely lacking in anything like the human sternum.

Instead of a heart, there was a pulsing mass in the middle, not deep enough or ropey enough to be the spine or smooth enough to be bones, but deep red and pulsing very quickly. It looked like a bulge in a hose more than anything else.

"You see, they do not haff a heart. It makes them harder to track by sound, wery useful vith the undersea predators," the Count reached inside, his hands sliding around the thickened area before he pulled upwards, causing the blood to spray. "Their skeletons are a tough form of cartilage, and do not last as long as bone, as vell as being resistant to breakage, though they are easier to cut. The scales are slightly veaker at the inner bends of joints, the insides of elbows, the backs of knees."

"Good to know, we do end up with a lot of them around Sunnydale," Joe watched as the writhing faded to feeble twitches and even those stopped. The pulsing of the blood tube stopped, as did the spraying of blood. The lamprey demon was dead.

"Then you should haff no difficulty killing the next vun," the Count smiled at him.

Joe made a sound that could pass for agreement.

Leaving the dead lamprey demon opened up and sprawled in a spreading pool of its own blood, the pair of vampires continued down the hall.

"Vun night, you may decide that you no longer vish to be a minion, that you vant to set out on your own. To be feared for your own name and reputation, instead of the vun that you serve. Vhen that night comes, you must be capable of handling the opposition effectiwely, so that they do not destroy you," the Count was explaining as they walked.

"I don't exactly inspire fear, except in mortals," Joe muttered, his thumb smearing at a bit of the demon blood that had sprayed over his fingers.

"Vhen I vas your age, I did not inspire fear either. Not in wampires, not in demons, and not particularly in mortals. You vill need to rise aboff an unthreatening appearance! Be precise in the use of your abilities, be wicious and thorough against your foes, and do not let any loose ends come back to choke you," the Count waggled a purple finger. "Also remember that vhat you know can be most useful. This is vhy I made an effort to learn sorcery and anatomy. The first is most useful, the second terrifies those who might stand against me."

"Like Paul's feet?"

"Yes, yes, like Paul's feet. Vhile I am certain that none of you who follow my good friend vould move to attack me, since the vord of vhat I did to Paul has spread through the town, there are far fewer here that vould dare attack me. It giwes the additional benefit of letting you accomplish more vith each strike if you know exactly vhere to do the most damage," the Count's sideways glance suggested that perhaps he hadn't been quite certain about his friend's minions before, but he could rest assured now. The spatters of drying blood that had caught the side of his face and the edge of the monocle suggested that he was quite eager to stay in practice with all sorts of anatomy lessons… or at least, the ones that involved blood, violence, and dismemberment.

"Does it help with the demons as well as the vampires?" Joe spoke in a low voice.

"Many species of demons, yes. Not all of them," the Count paused, and shook his head, "It does not deter wacuum salesmen, but they do make excellent practice. So do those determined indiwiduals speaking of finding God and if I know of the fate of my eternal soul."

"You chain up and dismember Jehovah's Witnesses?" Joe blinked, and then grinned, "That's about the best reason for an above ground lair that I've heard in a long time! It sounds like fun."

"There are not so many of them as the wacuum salesmen," the Count shook his head and sighed, "I do try not to kill the leetle girls selling the cookies. They are on the small side, and another associate of mine does so enjoy the cookies."

Another scream sounded from below, accompanied by the thick popping of cartilage dislocating but still surrounded by flesh and blood.

"Ah, the dungeons are not empty! That is the second scream from below."

"So, is it better to kill them all, or to let a few escape to spread stories of how horrible you are to the surrounding countryside," Joe asked.

"That is not so simple to answer, young wampire. If they know that you let them escape, they are not so frightened as vhen they think it vas great luck and skill on their part. But if you do kill them all, vhile wery satisfying, it makes the spread of your new reputation a bit slower," for a moment, the Count was silent, and then he glanced at Joe before adding, "Alvays remember not to make empty threats. You should alvays be villing to follow through vhen you make a threat. That said, there are some things that do not vork vell from a practical standpoint."

"Such as?"

"Strangling a wampire. Painful, but not fatal, though it may make you feel better. The lamprey demons or Maerrocholiths do not drown. Entishadros regenerate if you rip off their limbs, so vhile it hurts, it does not bring them closer to death. Entrails make poor bindings, vhen fresh they are too elastic, and vhen dried they are too brittle and snap easily," the Count sighed, and muttered, "There are also certain indiwiduals that enjoy being fired from cannons. Or hit. Or locked into a room full of chickens. Best to remember that sometimes pain and suffering must be tailored to the person you seek to torture."

"Cannons? Chickens?" Joe shook his head, his voice rising as he squeaked, "You've tied people up with entrails?"

"It vorked poorly. Using their own, vhile confining, tends to lead to early death. Using those of somevun they care about often leads to troubles of the mind, or a shut down. Those of a stranger… too easy for them to escape, and then you must chase them down again," He shook his head, before adding "Unless that is your intention from the beginning, it is best to use traditional ropes."

The small noise that emerged from Joe couldn't be considered a word in most languages.

At the end of the hall was a set of the swinging double doors, with the scent of salt and herbs slipping beneath the doors. From inside, a voice demanded, "Fetch me the frog!"

The doors swung out into the hall, revealing a Maerrocholith and another of the lamprey like demons.

"You should be able to take this vun, Joe. Note the narrower jaw and the bonier eye sockets? This vun is a female, do be careful. I vill dispatch the Maerrocholith, and then there vill be the sorcerer vithin the doors…"

"Female?" Joe twitched, before muttering "Don't hit the genitals… don't hit the genitals…"

End part 20.


	21. Chapter twentyvun

The Count stalked towards the Maerrocholith, noting the way the thin lips pulled back, revealing the doubled set of sharp teeth. A thorough inspection nearly a century ago had revealed that there were in fact a second set of jaws to go along with the second row of teeth, a discovery that had almost cost him a finger. He bared his own teeth, though there were far fewer than the Maerrocholith possessed. Sixty fewer, if the one that he'd examined had been typical for the species… perhaps some other time he would need to make a more involved study, with multiple specimens. A time when he did not need to explain the reasons to leave his frog alone.

"You stand between me and the vun who has threatened my frog. I regret to say that you vill die for this," he addressed the Maerrocholith, one hand raising in preparation. He expected the demon to attack him as soon as the words left his mouth. A lunge, perhaps a swipe with the long arm with the sharp claws, accompanied by a snap of the jaws if it passed close enough…

The chittering noises accompanying the lunge were something that he had learned was a rather rude bit of profanity that did not precisely translate, similar to an accusation that one's mother had copulated with scavenger fish. The talons were splayed wide in an effort to increase the chance that at least one would catch him, and to spread the damage across most of his body if the hit was solid.

The insult to his mother crushed the half formed thought of letting this demon limp away to spread fear. He twisted under the long taloned fingers, reaching up to snap the demon's wrist as he dodged. The long, spindly limbs of the Maerrocholith gave them an impressive range and reach, but the bones were vulnerable to sideways pressure, and the joins rather fragile when they weren't in the water.

He followed that by kicking the knee backwards, causing the joint to shatter. The demon lurched off balance, a high wail of pain emerging along with a chittering of the inner jaws that may or may not have meant anything beyond 'pain!'

He took advantage of the lost balance to claw across the stomach, his leading hand slashing open the skin and enabling his second to reach in and seize a handful of the internal organs. He could feel the slippery cords of the intestines, and caught hold of a longer, less wobbly length that could have been a blood vessel or a nerve, along with an oval shape just smaller than a lemon. In one motion, he clenched his hand into a fist and pulled.

The Maerrocholith gave a keen and a shudder, and then its legs collapsed. It toppled towards the floor, hands flailing. The legs didn't move, and blood was spreading from the demon's opened stomach in a rapid pattern that whispered of pain, of large plans disrupted, and of the powerful mystical convergence that was more commonly referred to as a Hellmouth.

Stepping to the side, the Count gave a quick glance towards his hand, seeing the coating of the purplish blood, a trailing grey length of nerve, and a half crushed mass of plum colored flesh that was oozing some sort of translucent secretion. "Vell, it appears that I haff found a gland."

He was in no mood for mercy, but the longer he was delayed by this wretched demon, the longer it took before he was ready to destroy the fool that had threatened his frog. That took priority over expressing the full extent of his irritation at this wretched, miserable demon.

Seizing it by the throat, he lifted the Maerrocholith from the floor, his hand, still slick with this wretch's blood, squeezing at the throat. "You insolent, foul-mouthed, bottom-feeding leech… I should rip you to shreds for such an insult to my mother."

Reminding himself that tearing the demon to shreds would take too long, he squeezed harder, until he felt things inside the demon's throat compact and warp out of their proper shapes. There were the subtle sounds of vessels and membranes rupturing, of cartilaginous structures, such as the larynx, and tendons being torn and crushed. The change in the scent of the terror filled huffs of breath emerging from the thin nostrils changed, suggesting that the creature would soon drown as its internal fluids flowed around the wreckage of its throat and into the lungs. Of course, it might bleed to death from the long slashes in the abdomen, or the place where he'd removed the lemon sized gland and the section of nerve…

No matter. He could now move on to destroying the sorcerer who had moved against his frog. Who had dared attack someone under his tutelage and protection. Who had acted to challenge him and his power.

A quick glance showed that Joe was handling himself tolerably well with the lamprey demon. He was evading the blows from its hands, and they appeared to be trading insults. Yes, the young vampire should be able to deal with the demon while he took care of the sorcerer.

Count vonCount stalked towards the doors, pushing them open with a sharp motion. He could feel the cape billowing behind him in a way that had commanded attention for centuries. The room was of a good size for rituals, perhaps fifty feet long and thirty feet wide, without any windows and only the single set of doors. Ugly fluorescent lights hung near the high ceiling, flooding the room with harsh light. The floor had been tiled over with slate, and lines had been drawn on in several hues of pastel chalk, with scrawled markings in Etruscan and Greek. The center piece of the large inscription seemed to be a large block of basalt, set with channels to permit the blood to flow away to the floor. There were shallow channels in the floor, set to take the blood into what looked like a modified Phoenician sign of protection… perhaps the reason that it had been so difficult to scry this location.

Apart from the horrible lighting, it was a very nice ritual chamber.

The sorerer in question was human. The pulsating noise of his heart, the flushing of his cheeks, the fine details of the fear that hung around him like a cloud… everything about him screamed human. Screamed or fear, and mortality and frailty. The man was tall and thin, with blond hair going grey, worn in rumpled curls that just touched the shoulders, a style that had been very popular during America's war with itself, though he lacked the mustache that had frequently accompanied that hairstyle. His frame was draped in a robe of red velvet, though it carried darker speckles from old blood.

Absently, the Count wondered if the older blood stains that speckled the human's robes were a fashion choice or a sign that he was careless with his sacrificial blades. A fashion choice meant a certain type of arrogance and showmanship. Carelessness… well, carelessness with magic spoke of many things, few of them healthy. Unless it was simply that he did not care about such fripperies as his garments when casting magic? No, if that was the reason, why heavy red velvet in California? It was not cold enough to demand the warmth, unless the human had reached that point of age where the body craved warmth… his face did not show such age, but there were many ways for a sorcerer to hide their age from their features.

Glaring at the man, Count vonCount snarled, "You haff made me wery angry."

End part 21.


	22. Chapter tventytwo

"Who are you to challenge me in my own sanctuary?" the mage demanded.

The Count began gathering his own magical power, as well as preparing the somewhat risky method of drawing on the ambient energies of the area. Such ambient draws could vary greatly in terms of the power that they drew. Here, he suspected that there would be a lot of energy, perhaps with a water affinity, and assuredly tainted with the energies of the Hellmouth. Energies that sought to corrupt and destroy.

Looking at the mage, he bared his teeth in a smile, "I am the vun that vill destroy you."

The velvet clad mage snarled some words in horrible Latin and made a hurling gesture with his hand, sending a gout of red flame towards the short purple vampire.

"You speak vith the accent of an illiterate svine-herd," the Count snarled, nimbly moving out of the way of the flames. His first spell was cast silently, with only a few gestures, and caused four of the five wretched fluorescent lights to shatter, sending shards of glass everywhere. "Vun that learned from a drunken camp-follower."

"How dare you meddle with me! I have power beyond mortal imagining! I have enslaved demons to my will!" The man's eyes were darkening as he shouted, changing to solid inky shadow. A few more words of butchered Latin sent a shock wave towards the Count.

"Bending such demons to your vill is a simple task," the Count retorted. He couldn't quite dodge the entirety of the shock wave, and found himself flung back into the wall. There was the sound of cracking concrete, and he was certain that he'd now have a darker purple bruise from the iron knife he had concealed along his back.

Pushing himself from the wall, the Count landed in a crouch, glass crunching beneath his feet as he gathered power to his hands. His next spell might have been overly cautious, considering the mage he faced, one that he was starting to suspect of arrogance and perhaps senility. Rather than a direct attack against the mage, he cast a barrier around the room, one that would, for the next one thousand four hundred and fifty six minutes, prevent any demons from entering the room, as well as prevent anything from being summoned into the area. No conjuring of extra-planar spirits, no conjured demons from beyond, not even any portals. Only humans, ordinary animals, and perhaps vampires would be able to enter the room until it fell. "You vill haff to do better than that, foolish sorcerer."

"I have done nothing against the vampires, why are you challenging me?" the sorcerer demanded, sweat gathering on his face even as darker veins spread from his eyes towards his temples, and from his fingertips up the rest of his hands.

"You did not challenge the wampires of this city, you challenged me!" the Count roared, sending his own shock wave towards the mortal sorcerer.

With a noise that was half curses and half pained yelp, the mage fell to the floor, his legs collapsing in a way that suggested broken bones.

"For vhat you haff done, you vill die," the Count hissed, leaping across the room to crouch beside the velvet clad sorcerer.

"No, you can't… ritual to prevent…" the man gasped out, attempting to gather magic into his hands.

"That is the problem vith most mages. The only vay you can think of to fix your problems is vith magic," he reached out, catching and squeezing the man's hand until he could feel the bones grinding against each other. "And so wery few of you can vork through the pain."

The man screamed as two of the bones in his hand cracked.

Reaching behind, the Count produced his knife and ran it down the man's arm, pressing had enough to dig down to the bones. Despite the pressure, his skin did not part, and no blood emerged. "Ahh, you haff performed rituals to prewent certain types of harm. Wery good. But there are many vays to harm somevun, and I am villing to try as many as it takes."

Gasping words in medieval French, the man attempted to gather magic into his free hand, his eyes still the inky shadow of someone using too much dark magic without the ability to properly control the power.

Smiling, the Count poked his knife into the mass of gathering magic. Cold iron did more than inconvenience the Greater Fae and repel the Lesser. It could make working magic difficult and warp or disrupt spells. The still unfocused magic coalescing in the man's other hand shattered, acting in a way not unlike a mass of lightning, grounding itself through the nearest conductor – which happened to be the sorcerer. Some of it stung at the Count's hand as well, but he could work through the pain, and it caused little physical damage.

"It seems that you are not immune to pain from raw magic, though your skin vill not part for my knife. I shall try again," Smiling, the Count ripped at the velvet robe, tearing the fabric away from the man's torso. "This vill be easier vithout the welwet in the vay."

"Not going to die that easily…" the sorcerer snarled, twisting and jabbing his fingers towards the Count's eyes.

"Oho, you are a feisty vun!" The Count chuckled as he dodged the strike.

He yanked the man's arm, hearing a wet pop and feeling it surge a bit closer as he dislocated the humerus from the rotator cuff of the shoulder joint. At the same time, it pulled the sorcerer back into the belly up position and caused his legs to flop a bit before falling back to the concrete. "This vill be enjoyable."

Clenching his hand tighter around the sorcerer's hand, he felt the bones grating, felt a bone in the smallest finger crack. At the same time, he changed the angle of pressure, digging his claws into the tender flesh. He could feel the skin parting beneath his claws, feel the blood welling up. Smiling, he looked into the man's eyes, "It seems that I vill haff to… vhat is the term? Ah, I vill haff to go old school vith this."

He stabbed the knife into the robes just below the sorcerer's crotch, pinning him to the floor. He didn't need to pierce his flesh to restrict his movements, after all. "Fortunately, I enjoy the older, more traditional vays of doing things."

There was a small yelp from the sorcerer as the knife pierced the velvet robes and dug into the floor, pulling the fabric hard against the man's genitals, causing pain despite the fact that the knife did not touch his flesh.

For what the Count had in mind, it might even be better not to pierce the man's flesh with knives, and to only immobilize him with bits of the heavy velvet robes. "Had you vorn silk, it vould haff probably torn. But the welwet vill hold."

"You… you can't…"

"I haff already told you that I vill kill you. For vhat you haff done, it vill be wery painful," he produced another blade, of poor quality and unlikely to remain useful after being stabbed into the concrete, and slammed it down by the man's other arm, again pinning the heavy velvet to the floor. "There is a wery old tradition among sorcerers that to attack a sorcerer or their student is to invite suffering upon yourself, unless you can destroy them."

A second pitiful blade was sufficient to pin the other sleeve, though closer to the elbow than the shoulder. "You attacked my student."

The Count leaned closer, looking into the doomed sorcerer's power-darkened eyes. "For that, I vill destroy you. The pain vill be for my own amusement."

"Now let us count how many pieces you haff broken your legs into…" The Count thrust one claw deep into the left leg and pulled downwards, careful to go from the knee all the way to the ankle. There would be time to move up to the thighs when he was certain that the man couldn't think clearly enough to escape with the reduced painful pressure against his genitals from the pinned velvet robes. Reaching in, he pulled out the first of many fragments of bone, smiling at the anguished scream. "Vun piece of bone…"

He did wonder if the sorcerer would bleed to death before he could count all the pieces of bone in his legs. Humans could be so fragile sometimes. Lifting out a jagged fragment of bone that including most of the upper end, the Count twisted it away from the tendon, running his nail along to carve the muscle away. "Two pieces of bone."

End part 22.


	23. Chapter tventythree

As it turned out, the sorcerer stopped screaming as the Count removed the fifteenth piece of bone, which was the bottom most fragment of the left fibula. He continued to make raspy noises and protesting whimpers through the removal of another eleven pieces of bone from the lower right leg. The sorcerer lost consciousness as the Count removed the right patella, more commonly known as the kneecap. Death came as the Count removed the fourth piece of the left femur, which proved to have shattered into a total of six pieces, one of them being the actual acetabulum, a very common break for aged humans. Thoroughness demanded that the Count inspect the right femur as well, which had broken in three places, resulting in three separate fragments, one of which had a large crack that had almost but not quite split the leg again. It certainly would not have held if the man had remained standing.

"Vell, the final total is forty pieces of bone in your legs, ah-ah-ah-ah!" The Count could hear thunder roll across the sky as he finished the tally. "Considering that you started vith eight, that is a rather impressiff increase."

Despite the fact that the sorcerer's heart had stopped beating, the Count was not content to simply walk away. The man – despite his folly in attacking Kermit – had been clever. He slashed the skin beneath the ribcage and reached inside, locating and removing the heart by touch. It had tiny paler marks all over the little blood vessels of the surface, suggesting that the man had been old, and that his heart had faltered on many occasions. He took the time to count the little scars, eventually determining that there were thirty two. "Had it not been for your magic, you vould haff perished many years ago, vhen your heart failed you."

He burned the heart separately from the man's body, concentrating on the magic to conjure and hold the fire. Best not to take unnecessary chances, after all. Some practitioners of magic had ways to return life to their bodies. Slipping his hand back into the hole beneath the ribcage, he towed the body behind him. It would be much easier to find an incinerator to handle the body, or at least some wood to help it burn. Then again, it was possible that the rituals that prevented metal blades from breaking the sorcerer's skin would no longer be effective now that he was dead.

Only one of the Muppet vans waited for him, though the eastern sky had started to take on the paler blue and lavender shades of imminent sunrise. As his friend's minions had rather drastic problems with sunlight, it was only reasonable that they had fled the area. "I presume that they haff been taken to a place vhere they can return to the underground tunnels?"

"Yeah," Sweetums called. "Kermit's asleep in the back, he said he wanted to make sure you were okay."

"How thoughtful of him to vorry about me," the Count murmured, an unfamiliar warmth forming in his middle. Perhaps near his own spleen? No, it was a bit deeper and more centrally located. "Though I haff told him that I am a wery capable magician."

"He worries. It's what he does," Sweetums shrugged. "You didn't have to bring a snack."

"Actually, I…" the Count paused, considering the ogre. "This is the sorcerer who had Kermit kidnapped. He put up a good fight, but as you can see, he lost. It is alvays a good idea to make certain that a sorcerer can not come back."

"They can do that?" Sweetums glared at the body.

"Some haff learned such tricks," the Count admitted. "I do not know if this one had such skills or not. Best to destroy the body as a precaution."

"I can do that," Sweetums rumbled.

"Good, good, you do that and then perhaps you can take us back into town," the Count agreed. If the ogre wanted to dispose of the body, that would be quite sufficient.

The next four minutes and twenty three seconds were a strong reminder to the Count that ogres should be handled with great care, and that he was very, very pleased that this one was loyal to Kermit.

He did not speak of the sorcerer again. He felt no need to discuss the matter with Sweetums, and while Kermit deserved to be informed that the man who had ordered him kidnapped and had planned to sacrifice him in a ritual was firmly dead, there was no need to wake him up just yet. The trip back into town was quiet, and slower than the trip out to the old factory, no doubt due to the lack of any particular need for speed. Kermit had been rescued, and the Count had no need to fear the sunlight.

"Tell him we'll stay in the area for a bit," Sweetums said, gesturing towards Kermit. "Me an' some of the boys wanted to check out a few things while we're here."

"Of course," the Count promised the ogre. Kermit would want to know that his loyal minions were lurking in the area, though he did not try to control their activities as much as some would. While he did wonder what sort of things the ogre intended to investigate, he suspected that it would be easier to simply ask Kermit later, have Kermit talk to Sweetums and the others, and then find out from Kermit what they would be doing next.

"The veather here hass been qvite enjoyable. Perhaps I might vant to set up a vinter house near this area, vhere the snow vill not bury my front door and keep avay the mailman," he mused.

"Might want somewhere other than here. I can feel the Hellmouth, and rumor is that those stuffy Brits are trying to arrange a Slayer to show up here soon,' Sweetums rumbled.

"I haff no need to fear a Slayer," the Count scoffed.

"But if you aren't bothered by her, you have more time for your projects," Sweetums countered. "And maybe not in your pal's back yard would be polite."

"Both good points," the Count admitted. Drifting into thought, he murmured, "Maybe a bit further south…"

"Your manhole," Sweetums pulled the van to a stop near a shoe store. At the end of the street they could see the shape of a large school, with an athletic stadium behind it.

"Thank you, Sveetums. I shall be certain to tell Kermit that you vill be in the area," the Count gave a third-bow towards the ogre as he slipped out of the van. He gently put Kermit over his shoulder and walked towards the manhole cover. "I do belief that my friend vanted to discuss magical theory vith Kermit some more before he leafs."

It was good that Kermit had such loyal minions. Perhaps now he could get on with his peaceful vacation.

End part 23.


	24. Chapter tventyfour

None of his friend's minions bothered him as Count vonCount strode through the tunnels under Sunnydale. He did see several of them, with Alex scurrying off somewhere. It took a mere five minutes and sixteen seconds to reach the area that was used by his friend and the minions, and only another minute and forty three seconds to have Kermit resting on the bed in the small room prepared for the frog. As Kermit was still asleep, the Count took the chance to inspect the frog for an accurate assessment of his injuries.

There were seven scrapes across Kermit's right shoulder blade and five over his left, along with some bruising. Most likely a result of being pushed against a wall, perhaps of brick. Three scrapes on the frog's left elbow, with a similar bruise – had he hit his elbow against the wall attempting to escape? The most serious and unsettling was the bruising around Kermit's throat and four puncture marks in the top of his shoulder, a set of bruises that seemed a very good match for the hand of one of those wretched demons. Overall, the injuries were fairly minor, and should be easy enough for the frog to recover from.

Tugging a blanket over the frog, the Count shook his head, "Get a bit of rest, Kermit. You vill need it to heal and deal vith the discussions that my friend vanted to haff vith you."

Retreating to his own guest room, the Count took his little green pill and settled down with a physics journal. "Perhaps the remainder of my wacation vill be unewentful…" Flipping several pages, he chuckled, "Vhat is this about particle acceleration and altered magnetic intensities that you are debating, hmmm? I shall haff to see this."

The day passed quietly, with Count vonCount reading a bit more of his physics journal before sleeping. He dreamed that he was set to count the grains of sand on the beach, a quest given by his sire. In the dream, it did not seem to matter that his sire had been dead for many years, or that his sire had never expressed such an interest in the specific details. Did not matter that his sire would have been more likely to set him inspecting the caves to find the best shelter, or to learn if any of the local sea-demons were edible. He awoke as he counted the seven hundred and nineteenth starfish – with an additional two hundred twenty three grains of sand and a strand of kelp.

After dressing for the night and taking the first of his little green pills, the Count wandered out of his room. The sound of voices discussing the various ways to read the weather caught his attention. His friend the Master favored gazing into a blood-pool, or salt water in a pinch, while Kermit favored a shadowed mirror. Of course, many vampires did not are for working with mirrors on a general principle – if they would not show you your own face, how could you trust what they did show you?

Looking into the room at his oldest friend among vampires and the frog that he'd only met within the last few decades, the Count smiled. "Are you enjoying your discussion?"

"It's a whole different level than talking to Mumford," Kermit admitted.

The Master smiled, revealing his own jagged teeth, "Kermit is not content to accept 'because it is traditional' as an explanation. A very challenging conversation. It has been centuries since I met anyone else as politely curious."

"Traditions can vary too much among different people," Kermit offered. "And with the theater, there were so many people and so many traditions that I couldn't just let that go. Half of our acts would never have been attempted if people stuck to tradition."

"But some traditions are still strong, still haff many uses," the Count murmured.

"Kermit does not challenge the ones that have a use, so long as we can explain that use. It is part of why I have not objected to all of his questions," the Master gave a nod towards the frog. "Will you be visiting Sunnydale again soon?"

"As much fun as it has been, I think that your town is best in small doses. Perhaps in a decade or so, I vill return for another brief wisit. But I haff no intentions of making this my home. Especially not if those foolish Vatchers manage to send vun of their Slayers to this place. They fight vell, but it takes avay from my other projects," he admitted. Sunnydale had proven to be filled with distractions and interruptions. "It is a fascinating place to wisit, but… you are velcome to the Hellmouth."

"You might like Los Angeles – it has the warm coastal weather but it's a few hours from the Hellmouth by car," Kermit suggested. "What, I had time to do a little research, and I want to know the important things for my people to know. Portals of any sort can disrupt what the Grouches do, and some sorts can lead to you visiting Sweetums' family. They're… well, you want to take the time to prepare yourself before you visit."

"I may haff to look into this Los Angeles," the Count mused. Kermit usually had very good ideas about climate, though there would be other factors to consider. Kermit was far more flexible in what sort of people he found tolerable and could endure as neighbors.

"I can handle the Hellmouth," the Master insisted.

"Brave vampire," Kermit muttered. "I'll take your word for that – you are a far more accomplished magic user than I am."

As he listened to his friends and joined into the discussion on magical theory, the Count smiled. This visit had proven quite enjoyable, even with that foolish minion stealing some of his pills. That had given him the chance to do a little hands-on anatomical study, and he'd had the chance to give a few little minions some useful advice. Kermit didn't seem to be upset that he'd been kidnapped and narrowly avoided ritual slaughter and sacrifice when he'd come to help fix the Count's medication.

Count vonCount decided that he was a very fortunate vampire. And Kermit was a most wonderful frog to have on his side.

End part 24.

End Counts of Blood.


End file.
